Nothin' but blue skies, baby
by Weeper
Summary: Amarant has disappeared. Freya is determined to find him, even if it means confronting the darkness that lies at the very heart of Gaea.
1. Prologue

"_Sal?"_

" _. . . Don't call me that."_

"_We've known each other for a long time, sometimes it feels like too long. But . . . I don't **know** you."_

"_What's your point?"_

"_I **want **to. I want to know about your home, your parents, how you became **you**. There aren't many religions that have monks like you."_

" _. . . Go to sleep, rat."_

"_Amarant, if you don't tell me I'll spend the next half moon at Fratley's."_

" _. . . "_

_---------------------------------- _

'Half an hour', Ipsen thought to himself moodily, while twisting through the air to land his feet on the shoulders of an Alexandrian soldier. 'Half an hour ago I was being an old man in the garden, carving tits out of the bushes and happily ignoring summer solstice duties.' The merciless kick-off sent them both flying out of the way of the mother dragon's thundaga spell.

"Fucking Alexandrians!" He yelled compulsively, the foul-mouthed monk grunting as he lifted and launched a piece of timber from the airship wreckage. He didn't even bother to watch the beam fly - straight through the fragile wing membrane of the mother - instead grabbing the nearest soldier by the throat and lifting her up to his own level. "Who the bloody hell pisses off a Grand Dragon that's got kids? Fucking _idiots_!"

The soldier let out a painful gasp, grabbing in vain at his wrist as it began to draw backwards. Ipsen's anger dipped at the noise, regaining enough sense to not use her as his next javelin. Instead, he turned back to the wreckage to find a replacement weapon. "The Queen." The soldier managed to rasp, shakily rising back to her feet.

Ipsen froze, already halfway through ripping the steering wheel off of the _Red Rose_'s helm. "You're taking the Michael. The bloody _Royals _are here?"

The soldier nodded, blinking back a few tears as she massaged feeling back into her throat. "She was carried off by the dragons. The King went after her."

"I don't believe this!" He roared, flinging the parted wheel straight into the neck of an airborne dragon, watching in cruel, vindictive satisfaction as the corpse hit the ground. That was two down, leaving one child and the mother. It was a blessing that Grand Dragon females killed their mates for baby food, or the number of human bodies littering the plains would be double. "Where are they?"

The girl – no older than 25 and far too young to be fighting Mist creatures – pointed at the woods barely three hundred metres away, backed onto the cliff base. She was also pointing straight at the mother dragon.

"Damn," Ipsen sighed. Pushing the girl out of his way, he started running.

The fight was too fast in the coming, too slow in the making. Ipsen had barely enough time to cast Aura before the dragon had hit - tail just grazing his chest. His left hand wrapped around as much of the thick limb as it could before it went out of range. It swung upwards and he was airborne, flipping high into the air as he lost his purchase, and the circling child was headed straight for him. Its teeth snapped, and missed. His wrist curved, and hit. The duel claws strapped tightly to his right hand came away dripping in blood that steamed with cold in the summer sun, even as Ipsen still flew upwards. Another hit, and both the bodies started to fall while the monk desperately tried to free his claws from the beast's hard skull.

The mother was waiting right below, her rage burning brighter at the death of another youngling, jaw wide open to rip the old man in half. With the claw still stuck, the monk did the only thing he could: pull the corpse beneath his own body. The Grand Dragon's teeth clamped on the limp sack, and he escaped using the extra leverage. His whole body ached liked hell and his arthritis was certainly not in the best of moods, yet still he managed to keep his speed going. Jumping down on the neck, he again used his left hand to get purchase, and swung himself under the dragon's chin. The claws flashed up, ripping into the soft skin under the jaw, and he used the last of his aura-induced adrenalin rush to unleash the most powerful No Mercy he could muster.

The dragon roared, all her muscles wracked with spasms. After a couple of heartbeats - still shaking from the non-elemental remnants coursing through her veins - she fell. Trapping the monk in the process. The remaining few soldiers rushed over to push the heavy body off the swearing monk.

"How many more?" he asked, managing a seating position as he ran out of curses.

One of the women offered him her hand. Ipsen grabbed it, wincing as he pulled himself up. It was the same soldier he had almost thrown across the field. "Three. Some of my troops were there too, so it could be less."

"Oh, you looked like you were doing bloody marvellous when I arrived . . . Wait, your troops?" Ipsen asked with sarcasm still playing on his tongue, finding it hard to believe someone so young could be in command – despite the markings of Colonel on her shoulder.

She didn't answer, instead turning towards the forest. "Are you going to help us?"

Nodding his head, the monk started moving, keeping pace with the Colonel. That is, until the first screams reached his ears, and his feet began to pound faster out of their own accord.

The realisation that he was alone refused to hit until the first dragon had. Even the youngling's weighed nearly a ton, all the muscle mass driving its wing with the force of a smith's hammer. Immediately winded, Ipsen keeled forwards, glancing up in time to see three rows of painfully sharp, pointed, spiky teeth. Top and bottom.

He braced himself as well as he could manage, wondering how the hell you prepare yourself for non-consensual vorarephilia. Instead of the bite he expected, he felt a hot blast throw him backwards. Again, he hit the ground, managing to use the shock to gasp the blistering air into his lungs. One of the soldiers had unleashed a fira spell upon the dragon, just missing Ipsen to hit the monster's upper torso and head. The changes in air pressure had been what had blown the monk backwards. The troops took the advantage to catch up, all falling upon the dragon in a flurry of steel.

"The hell's the Queen?" He gasped, having recovered enough to manage a few words. The screams came back into focus as his adrenalin diminished, the voice far too brash to belong to one of the rake-like figured guards. Ipsen cursed again, sloping into a staggering run with the other soldiers following. They all crashed through the bushes together, stopping dead in their tracks as they saw the Queen. Brahne was pressed up against a tree, a youngling in front of her hissing softly.

Ipsen spared no time for thought. Being winded did not stop him using his arms, and he deftly wrenched the sword from the nearest soldier. His muscles rippled upwards, almost shrinking his arm as he tensed for the throw. It snapped like a bowstring, the sword leaving at the apex of the arc, spiralling straight towards the dragon. His arm was already bunched again as it smashed through the creature's leg. Three more hits cracked in quick succession before it fell. Even after this, Ipsen made sure to secure the kill with the duel claws.

Wiping away blood and sweat from his forehead, he took a step back, allowing the soldiers to check on the Queen. "Did you say there were three, Colonel?"

A different voice rang out in pain, this time from outside the forest. "Dammit, now you're just fucking with me!" Ipsen cried, staring at the sky. He pushed his tired thighs into a sprint, alone as the soldiers stayed with their Queen. The different route he thrashed took him past the remains of Alexandria's King, and took him outside the leaves just in time to see the fledgling beat into the sky, the Colonel dangling from one arm.

He grunted, pulled a small bottle from the pouch at his belt and quaffing it as he gave pursuit. The distilled potion worked immediately, relieving his chest pains, fatigue and the constant aching pressure in his joints. The dragon was half way up the cliff and Ipsen was only just reaching the base, jumping as high as he could to grab a handhold. He swarmed upwards, using the claws to grab extra purchase wherever he could - attacking the cliff as if it was another spawn of the mist. Even as the effects of the potion began to be negated by his failing body, the screams drove him upwards, their intensity building and rippling around, penetrating his head from all sides. The cause was gruesome. They had stopped moments before the monk reached the nest, replaced by a soft whimpering only heard as he flipped over the ledge's lip.

She lay in the nest, her clothes and body torn by claws and teeth; red blood mingling with brown wool. The male youngling stood over, jaws open above her skull, penis just flaccid and slick. It was if a switch tripped in Ipsen's mind, righteous anger translating into a shimmering golden aura. He dove forward, his now-blond hair flying behind him as he hit the youngling, sending them both rolling out of the nest and onto the ledge. It lunged, exposing the soft area of the neck. His claws flashed, slicing the mist creature's throat. His other fist followed, hitting the beast's head with such force that its neck broke. The red eyes dimmed, and Ipsen's trance followed.

His clothes returned to normal, his dreadlocks shortened and regained their normal grey. The soldier still whimpered, crying out as Ipsen lifted her over his shoulder to carry her back down the cliff. Someone had found the Red Rose's communication crystal, he noted; a Lindblum ship had already made it through South Gate. The girl cried out again as he shifted her weight, and he finally noticed the fearful state of her leg. "Bloody hell," Ipsen exclaimed, carefully lowering her back to the floor and ripping his shirt to use as a tourniquet and bandages.

"Looks like you're bunking with me, sunshine. You're not going anywhere with that."

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AN: Very much WIP. Centric on Ipsen and Amarant all the way up to the beginning of the game, and possibly after. Later chapters should be longer than this, and have more Amarant filled goodness.

(insert disclaimer here kthxbai)


	2. Chapter 1

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Chapter 1

The weather had remained favourable throughout the closing end of June, bringing only brief showers that did little except to cool the air. The smell of the rain stayed longer, embedding itself in the flowers and vines that had sprung up in the monk's prolonged absence from his garden.

Today, Ipsen was outside. The garden was a delicate balance that had taken years of careful upkeep to create; wild, mist tainted plants living in harmony with those carefully cultivated by the monk. No child should walk in this garden, certainly, as common snapdragon veined around plants that – while called the same – were named rather more appropriately. It was one of these that Ipsen was rather cheerfully calling a 'good girl', while he held it back with a long pole to steal tiny buds from halfway up its trunk.

He blocked the flower's lunge easily after he had stepped away, the forked staff keeping the gnashing teeth a good four feet away. "Now, now. No need to be like that, love," he crooned.

The snapdragon growled unhappily, into pleasurably as Ipsen threw it a piece of dried meat from the carcasses he had recovered from the plain.

All the effective medicines were illegal now, thanks to Queen Garnet Til Alexandros 16ths insistence that anything causing a large change in mental state was the work of the Mist. The regent of Lindblum had followed swift suite, desperately trying to keep good relations after the last century's war.

The end result was, unfortunately, that it was impossible to secure a half-decent drink anywhere except the Treno slums. The monk had made it creatively clear to his watering hole what he would do to them if they ever dared to take dead pepper schnapps off the menu.

There were rumours that Brahne and the latest Fabool were discussing a reversal, but either way it would have no effect on Ipsen. His somewhat dangerous gardens supplied all the exotic plants and privacy he needed to brew whatever alcohol or medicines he fancied sampling that week.

A quiet wail tore the idyllic atmosphere – and Ipsen's daydreams – in two. The colonel's waking caused all life to scatter, tame trick sparrows exploding up in a deluge of dark plumage. The snapdragon seemed to ignore it completely, attempting to bite Ipsen's face off again as the noise startled him into dropping the stick. It was answered with a swift left hook before the monk returned inside his home.

He walked calmly, carefully tying the necks of the small pouches as he navigated the junk-filled narthex into the nave of the church. He broke away from the direction of the cries to place his baggage in one of the small chapels of personal prayer, next to elaborate stills of twisted glass and metal.

The sacristy at the back of the church was small, the makeshift sickbed lending an oppressive quality to the otherwise cheery room. Ipsen had blocked the windows with wood to keep the sunlight from the fevered girl and his hands now replaced the drying cloth on her forehead. She seemed to soothe as the fresh spring water traced down her skin, but that could have been his imagination.

"Shh, sunshine," he whispered, uncorking a bottle of highly distilled, highly illegal mega-potion. "Rest your pretty head."

This he forced her into swallowing, tipping little by little through her parted lips, gently stroking her neck to make her muscles work out of reflex. Once half of the tiny tube had disappeared, he changed to the care of her external wounds. There was little he could do about the leg until his distillation was finished, but the other major wound was in his current abilities. "This is worse for me than you, mate," he muttered, eyes turned firmly upwards as he drenched a cloth with the mega-potion.

The rope that tied shut the robe covering the soldier's decency fell limp as Ipsen untied it with one hand. He whispered a prayer peppered with profanity as – eyes still averted – he slipped the cloth inside, and pressed it over the damage inflicted between her legs by the dragon. Her whimpering rose into a scream.

When the rag compress was removed, she fell silent, and the monk restored as much dignity as he could give before taking his leave.

It was another two months before the Corporal had recovered into coherency. The monk was at her side every moment, save for those he spent in the chapel of St. Haagen; brewing the medicine and alcohol that kept them both sane.

"You awake?" Ipsen asked, wiping the bite of his last swig off of his lips.

"Mmm," the girl uttered, turning on her side to fix her saviour with a dilated stare.

"Y'know, I've been lookin' after you for like, three months? Still dunno your name, girl."

"Celes Irrin," the Corporal muttered lethargically, through the haze of her anaesthetics. "Wha's yours?"

"Ipsen . . . somethin'. S'got an L on the end. Can't remember. Too drunk."

"Ipsen like, whatsisname, Colin?"

"Used to work with a Colin, years ago. Bit of a dick," the monk answered, shifting in his chair.

The woman giggled, or at least attempted. The sound was weak and cut off abruptly by a pathetic stream of coughing. "Why'm I here?" She mumbled as it abated.

A minute flashed before Ipsen replied. "'Cos the fucks'd kill you."

Celes' eyes widened, as much as her drip of elixir would allow. "Kill me? Who wan's t'do that?"

"Brahne's damn laws," he answered, clumsily brushing back his dreadlocks to reveal bloodshot eyes. The Corporal barely moved, the drugs stopping the sudden statement from aggravating her.

"I deserted?"

"'Alf-breed, thingie, what aint offensive this decade. Grand dragon knocked you up. Illegal."

Silence was the one response he wasn't expecting. "Doga 'n' Une," he muttered, glancing up to see her eyes rolled back in her head. "Now I've gotta tell 'er again."

Ipsen changed her medication after that, replacing the elixir with a mixture designed purely to repair her spiritual capacity and keep her asleep. Potions could only do so much to re-knit the muscles and re-grow the bones, but some things they could not handle. Such as the dark infection which crawled from the teeth marks in her flesh, one no amount of extensive testing from the monks archives had reduced. Only one path to healing remained, and that was kicking Celes' immune system into trance-like proportions with a lot of ether. Painkilling was not in the medicines short list of effects, so the sleeping weed was necessary to keep the poor girl from shaking down the church walls with her cries.

It was impossible for the ex-adventurer to be at her side every minute of the day, so sometimes the effects died into a world of pain. His continued experiments and research surfaced an old, old concoction he had long forgotten creating. With the addition of the pollen from a plant Ipsen once affectionately christened 'floaty-leaf' and willow bark, the sleep could take on the depth of a coma to that of an apparent death. Not the purpose it was originally created for, he smirked, reading through the journal entries and sketches about the rescue mission that accompanied the recipe. It had been a long time since he had been so involved with the outside world.

Some things are never meant to be, and it was with a darkened spirit Ipsen accepted his plan had failed. The infection had spread further – though not as quickly as it had before the treatment – and Celes once beautiful leg bore heavy signs of flesh rot. He spent two days sharpening and sterilising his dual blades before he worked up the courage to perform the amputation.

Celes was not awoken for another ten days. Ipsen spent most the time cramped up in Haagen's Chapel, preparing and bottling everything he though he might need for the journey he knew he had to make.

"What the _hell_ have you done to me?" the soldier hissed at him as he entered her chamber two days after stopping her drug treatments (save for mild painkillers).

"Saved your life," he replied, staying in the doorway. "There's no antidote to grand dragon venom, but I tried anyway. Could've left you on the mountain."

"For Doga's sake," she spat. "You damned _fool,_ Hilda Previa created the magic to heal any infection; how could you not have _known_ that?"

"I haven't left this chapel for twenty years. I've never heard of her."

"And that's enough reason not to call for a white mage? How could you be so thoughtless?"

Ipsen grunted, staring at the unnatural bulge in her stomach. "Because they'd have executed you for carrying a half-breed, rape or no rape. I know that's not changed."

Celes reflexively touched her stomach, horror-struck at the monk's statement. "You're lying," she responded, "How could . . . I don't . . ."

"Once you get whatever's in there out, I'll get you back home as quickly as possible. You got my word, sunshine."

"But lizards can't mate with humans," she floundered, "that's just . . . _no_, they _proved _it."

"Yeah, but there's barely any pure humans left," Ipsen answered, taking seat in his armchair. "They mixed with the rest, some people reckon the grands've got eidolon in 'em, too."

"I don't . . . I don't know what that is or what it means-" She stopped mid-sentence; staring at Ipsen while her mouth still formed her next word. "You can do magic. I saw you. You did it on the dragon and you turned all gold."

"That's not-" the monk started, managing two words before the corporal cut him off.

"Why didn't you fix me!" she yelled, pushing herself up in bed and trying to lunge at her keeper, her face turning red. "You could have fixed me!"

Not able to reach him, she grabbed the unlit oil lamp from the side of her bed and threw it, immediately looking for something else to hit him with. Ipsen swore, barely avoiding the missile. Jumping from his chair, he easily grabbed both of her wrists inside one gnarled fist, pinning her arms together before sitting next to her on the bed.

"Why didn't you fix me?" She repeated, before collapsing into his chest, tears now freely pouring.

The monk patted her back awkwardly, feely decidedly unsettled by the situation. "I couldn't," he answered softly, "my magic's for fighting, not healing."

"Why didn't you take it out?" Celes asked, the words muffled and separated by her sobs into Ipsen's habit.

The monks frowned lightly, and he let go of her wrists. "I'm going to tell you something," he started, while the girl hugged her remaining knee and buried her blotched face in her arms.

"There's a race of dwarves that live in a town called Conde Petit. Each one's stronger than 10 men, but only half the size. It takes a hell of a lot to kill the bastards, and they're the best damn blacksmiths I've ever seen. They were born from human and a monster called tonberry.

"In marshes across the world there's people called the Qu. Doga knows what spawned them, but you forget what freaks they look when you taste their cooking. Not bad in a scrap, either - they know how to tap into a monsters genetic memory.

"And then there's all the other halfbreeds-"

"Mixed species," Celes mumbled from her curl.

"Whatever. They're the core of that hellhole you call civilisation. People with greater strengths and weaknesses. Mages, summoners, the guys who maintain South Gate. They're all hal-, mixed species. I'm not saying your kid could save the goddamned world, hell, we've got fucks like the vice and wendigo walking around as proof it don't always turn out that way. But I am not going to kill an unborn kid because it might be a monster. Understand?"

She nodded slowly, her chin now resting on her knee. Ipsen handed her a clean bandage to act as a handkerchief. "I think," she answered around the headache that follows such an outburst of emotion, "But what's a summoner?"

Ipsen scratched his neck in annoyance. "You don't know what an eidolon is, do you?"

Celes shook her head, and the monk sighed. "Eidolons . . . They're like, gods, they're everywhere at the same time. There's one for different seasons and elements, all the driving forces of nature: fire, gravity, life and all the other bullshit in the spell classification books they give you at school. Long time ago, up until the mist came and the new races came, they walked around with us. Or flew, or whatever, not the point. The point is they had bodies and they left.

"Then this new tribe came, built Alexandria castle. Had horns, too. They could talk to the eidolons, and call them back to earth for protection, or whatever. Funny thing was, they'd changed; the eidolons used to be a lot more human, anthropomorphic, whatever. Now they were animalistic."

"So where are they now?"

"Place called Madain Sari, over the sea. They summoned something they shouldn't 've. There was a bad fight. Really messed up the land around Alexandria, made the lake, made evil forest - all sorts of stuff. Hah, you wouldn't even've been born last time I-"

"Ipsen, stop. It's not working, I can't, I just . . ." Celes interrupted, her mouth muffled slightly from slipping down behind her knee. Only her eyes were visible, and they fixed Ipsen with a very fearful expression. "What's going to happen to me?"

The monk sighed, reaching out to brush a fresh tear from her cheek. "The kid's too big, already. I'd guess there's another week until your water breaks. It's going to be a difficult birth."

Celes shook her head, wincing as her headache stirred up. "No, I don't mean that, I don't even want to think about that. I mean afterwards. I . . . just, I . . . What the fuck am I meant to do with one leg and a fucking dragon for a kid?" She exclaimed.

"The best you can. That's all you can give, all that matters," Ipsen answered softly. "I think there's a story I should tell you, an old one. Don't worry; it's not a religious one. This is much older than Doga and Une."

----------------------------

Everything had gone wrong.

Ipsen let a cloud of cigar smoke into the air, the swirls accompanied by the last, pulsing sparks of his aura.

Celes was dead.

Blood loss. Ipsen had been right, the child was far larger than a normal human; it could not fit through the girl's hips. The double claw had to be sterilised again for a Faboolian section, which the monk performed admirably and without a hitch. He could not explain to himself why the blood had not stopped under all the potions and ethers he could risk applying. He'd checked the child for grand venom since, well, just since.

The child. That was the other problem. It was currently sitting in his lap, translucent scales shimmering in the hazy autumn sun, little claws pawing at the air as serrated teeth ripped through a chew toy made of bandages. A layer of wiry red fuzz covered his head, and it worried Ipsen that he could already picture it roped into dreadlocks.

"Can't take you to the city, sunshine. Looks like you got yourself a new dad."

Carefully, he slipped his hands under the baby's arms – avoiding the flashing teeth and talons – and lifted him up in front of his face, still chewing the cigar. "How d'you feel about being called Salamander?"

The baby sneezed in reply.

----------------------------

_Freya loved mornings in Burmecia. More specifically, she loved waking up. That melodic sound of the rain drumming gently on the balcony window, mixing with the far-off clashes of dragoon lances from the training grounds. It banished the nightmares of burning planets and shattered cities that haunted her every night. But nothing more so than reaching out and entwining her fingers in burning red-._

"Oh no." Freya whispered, her hand meeting nothing. Her eyes were wide open now; all traces of sleep and smiles vanished. She sat up, pushing her hair back.

"No note . . ." she said, after scanning the few surfaces of her bed chamber.

Amarant was never up before her, never. It was only an hour after sunrise and he slept until noon without fail. She sighed, stepping out of bed and letting her nightdress fall to the floor before taking clean undergarments from her cupboard. "You're a damn fool, Crecent." She muttered.

She dressed without haste, taking care that her surcoat was strapped firmly in place, even as her fingers fumbled slightly with the last wrist strap. She left her room, taking her hat from the stand in the hallway, and was just reaching for the door handle when the tinkle of the bell sounded above her head. She paused for a breath, then opened it.

"Oh, Sir Fratley. Good morning," She greeted, feeling the disappointment even though she knew he would be long gone. "I apologise, I was expecting it to be someone else. Please, come in."

Fretley nodded, removing his own hat as he crossed the threshold. "Good morning, Freya. I am assuming it was Amarant you were hoping to see?"

"Yes, I was just leaving to see you. I had thought he may have been at your house." she replied as she led him into the kitchen, taking two mugs and beginning to pour some tea.

"I assume you have some news of him?"

Fratley nodded, taking a seat at the table. "I just spoke to the guard who came off duty. He informed me he saw Amarant leave the city in the small hours of this morning. He had his bag with him, which concerned me. Did the two of you fight last night?"

"No, it wasn't a fight, as such," Freya answered as she placed the kettle on top of the stove and stoked the embers. "He told me about his parents last night, and he was gone when I woke. I hadn't checked to see if his things were gone yet, I was under the misguided hope he had only gone to you."

"As much as I would like that to have been the case, I am afraid that he did not. Our friendship does not run deep enough for him to talk about such matters. May I ask if you know why he left?"

"Yes, I do. At least it must be a part of it. What is our job, Fratley?"

"To protect the regent and citizens of Burmecia from all harm," the Knight answered promptly, "but why is that relevant."

Freya sighed, taking the boiled kettle and pouring two mugs of tea. She placed them both on the table before sitting down, blowing softly on her own before answering. "It is important, but not that part. I mean our routine duties."

"Guard patrols? Training sessions? Escorting diplomats? I apologise, but I am still lost."

"The dragons, Fratley. Culling the dragons. The reason that our Captain badge shows a dragon impaled on a lance."

"Why on earth would he leave over something like that?"

Freya had strategically allowed her hair to fall down over her eyes, blinding Fratley from the damp in her fur. "Because his father was a Grand Dragon. He must think I hate him for it."

"He must have more sense than that, even he must know it would take much more than that for you to stop loving him."

"I have not told him yet," Freya answered with a half laugh. "I thought it might scare him away."

Fratley remained quiet, choosing to drink his tea.

"I need to go after him."

Fratley raised an eyebrow. "King Puck will not approve the absence. The High Ball is approaching."

"That is why I do not intend to ask his permission."

"He will ask me where you have gone. I cannot lie to him."

Freya sighed, before finishing the last of her tea. She stood up, and Fratley followed suit. "Tell him . . ." She mused, while staring at the crest emblem on her arm.

She grabbed it with her other hand, ripping it free from her surcoat, handing it to Fratley. "Tell him this is more important to me than anything else. This is more important that being a Dragon Knight."

Fratley stared at the emblem while Freya looted draws and cupboards, putting the contents into her pack. "He is not going to like this," he called.

"I know." Freya replied from the bedroom her voice muffled as she selected spare clothing. She was carefully manoeuvring the Dragon's Hair when she reappeared.

"I'll go and distract the guards on the South Entrance. We should jump to it now, but land before the guardhouse, do not let anyone see you. I will try to give you a day head start before King Puck sends someone after you." Fratley said, slipping the emblem into his pocket as he opened the door with his other hand. "Une's speed, Sir Freya. Do you know where you will start searching?"

Freya smiled at him, locking the door after he had stepped outside. "Treno."

----------------------------

I update badly. I suck. Case closed.


	3. Chapter 2

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Chapter 2

Freya had lied to Fratley. In a way. It was never quite lying when you were escaping the sometimes-quite-scary ex boyfriend. She knew he really meant no harm, but some of the things he said after five hours drinking with Amarant really, really made her want to go and seek political refuge in Alexandria. It was a wonder to her – with the glorious gift of hindsight – why the hell she had ever wanted him to get his memories back.

She sighed, hoisting her satchel onto her shoulder after stowing the utensils of her tea break, scattering the last embers of the fire with her boot. The bag was heavy, clumsy and far too bloody big. It was one of Amarant's, filched from his hut outside the city that he retreated to every time he got sick of the rain. It made a lot more sense now; how often he disappeared to it, under the presumption that his blood was cooler than a pure mammal.

A lot made sense now, Freya thought with a tired smile, as much good as it did her.

The habit she had stolen was annoying her as well, even taking the damn thing in left her with something big enough to fit three people her size. She'd made do with roping the green sleeves – leaving enough to keep her hands covered, and tying it around her legs. Amarant may have been able to fight the local fauna wearing a sodding dress, but she tripped over it the moment she tried to step outside his hovel. The full length had been easy to trim – as with the hood and sleeves – but the train she'd split up to the top of her thighs. A few of Amarant's spare belts tied the flapping pieces around her legs securely. She felt she looked satisfactorily non-dragoonish.

The disguise felt like treachery, but there was no other choice. Zidane had appeared back in Alexandria almost a year ago, and with him, most of their story. Some of them had lavished in the fame and attention, but Freya was definitely not one of them. Fortunately, most people were unable to tell Burmecians and Cleyrans apart, let alone individuals, so the absence of her familiar dress would make travelling much easier.

The satchel held her surcoat, just in case.

It was like stepping through some invisible barrier to the church. You could almost see a line on the ground between the tired, browning grass of the plains and the sudden vivacious mossy-ness and green of the garden inside. Freya stopped at the spring that lay just within the arch of trees, drinking deeply from her hands before refilling her flask. She marvelled at the taste, marvelled at the balm that spread through her tense muscles and worried mind in a way that only a potion did. "Amazing . . ." she whispered, running fingers over the head of the spring and trying to make out the long-eroded carvings.

She still stared back over her shoulder as she walked to the church entrance. "Amarant?" She called, peering through the slightly open door into the gloom.

There was no response. "Ipsen?" Freya tried instead, a little more softly, and with a little less hope.

Nothing. The church was deathly quiet. Pursing her lips, Freya wrapped her claws around the door ring, pulling hard until there was enough room for her to walk through comfortably. The Dragon's Hair stayed on her back; its length too awkward to manoeuvre inside.

It sprung back into her hands as her feet stepped into the main hall. The roof was in disrepair – speckles of sunlight showing through – and the pews were covered with a visible veil of dust. She walked to the altar, almost bumping into it as she continued to stare at the stained glass window glowing behind it.

The picture was magnificent. Three figures clothed in white stood with their palms raised to the sky. A paladin, his armour and cloak kissed by golden designs that meant nothing to her. A warrior clothed in white furs, his expression filled with vengeance and forgiveness at once. And a woman with flaming red hair that spread all around them, her beauty a thing of art.

Somehow, Freya knew there was something missing, and she squinted above their palms, trying to see what they reached for in the darkness. A flash, in her mind, of a great and vicious knight clothed in purest black, his armour made of cruelty and hatred. A blink, and it was gone. Slightly disturbed, she turned to leave the church.

The image flicked through her mind the entire journey to Treno, although if the dark knight haunted her dreams then she held no memory of it. The trip was boring, and completely uneventful. Freya had tried asking a few about Amarant and yielding no results. Most had met her with derisive laughter, at believing in the Man With No Soul. He was a metaphor, they said, not real, they said, just a character meant to represent the doubts and fears of the ones who did save the world.

After five fights of blissful, ecstatic thoughtless rage, she found someone who could help her, instead of assume she was trying for the bounty. With the Dragon Hair floating at his neck and yellow stains dripping down his trousers, she asked again.

"Now will you tell me where I can find The Flaming Amarant?"

"Fu, Final Hazard, Augur Street," the man stammered, his eyes fixed on the golden point.

"Thank you." She smiled, swinging the lance around to catch him around the head with the hilt, knocking him out.

"Doga, I hate Treno," she muttered, swinging her bag back over her shoulder as she walked in the direction the man had pointed.

The pub was like a dwarf; loud, and full of ale. The barman actually was a dwarf, wearing what appeared to be small stilts so he could see over the counter. "What can I get for you, lassie?" he asked, putting down the glass he was polishing.

"This is the Final Hazard, is it not? Someone appears to be using the sign as a weapon. It made it quite difficult to read." Freya responded.

"Aye, that it is. Oi! Mildred!" he yelled over his shoulder, "The bloody sign's getting nicked, go sort it!"

"Ach, keep yer fookin' hair on, I'll do it in a bit!" another dwarf replied. If Freya squinted, she could guess this one was female.

"I'm looking for someone," Freya said.

"That'll be fifty gil," the barman answered, sliding a tankard in front of her, accompanied with a snide grin. Freya frowned, or at least tried to. The fumes of the schnapps had made her sneeze, somewhat spoiling the effect. Begrudgingly, she paid for the drink.

"So, lassie, who you looking for?"

"The Flaming Amarant," she said.

The barman frowned. "Aye, he drinks here, along with Doga and the burning man. Try asking about someone real, missy."

"How about Ipsen Coral. is he a myth too?" she asked, too tired to be able to completely wipe the annoyance from her tone.

"That one I have heard about, there's a pictograph of him behind the bar from the last owners." He turned around, taking a small frame with a yellowed black and white photo from the wall. There were three figures in it; a man stood behind the bar, grinning proudly. Freya guessed he must have been the owner at the time. The other adult looked to be in his late fifties to early sixties, with limbs built like tree trunks. He had dreadlocks – that she guessed to be grey – pulled back and tied with a ribbon to keep it out of his beer. And just visible behind him, on another stool, was a heavily built child with stumpy hair and a slouch that just screamed Amarant.

"Yes, that's him," Freya muttered, transfixed by the young Salamander.

The barman nodded. "Well, your best bet's to talk to that man over there," he pointed at a table set deep into the bar, where a red haired man was barely visible. Freya's heart skipped a beat, leaving disappointment as she saw the lack of dreadlocks.

"Alleyway Jack," her informant continued, pushing another tankard in front of her. "But he isn't going to tell you anything unless you get him a drink.

"That's another twenty gil," he added, grinning evilly.

"Would you like to know a secret first?" Freya asked.

The man shrugged, so leaning forward over the counter, she whispered her name into his ear. "That's funny," she said after he had realised where he knew it from, "I didn't think dwarves could turn white."

Mentally, she cursed as she walked away from the bar. She was tired and stressed, both aspects affecting some of the finer points of her judgement. It was a mistake to have been throwing her name around in a hovel like this, especially one where she had been so easily able to buy information on the most feared assassin on the continent. It was too late to change the situation now, at any rate. "Alleyway Jack?" She asked.

The man had four arms, two of which already held mugs, while a third was wrapped around the waist of a giggling girl. "Push off, love, already got my entertainment for the night."

Something stirred in Freya's memory as he turned to her, the metal covering his eyes pulling out a story she had heard during the war. "Now I know where I remember your name from. You once tried to rob Vivi Ornitier."

The girl that Jack was fondling looked shocked. "The little mage? 'Ow could you do that to such a cute kid?"

Jack had frozen up. "I, I, he . . ."

Turning her nose up at him, the girl stalked of, leaving Jack looking like he was on the verge of tears. "That was uncalled for," he muttered.

Freya snorted, pulling out the only other chair from the small table and putting the two tankards down. "Dead Pepper schnapps." She said, motioning at the tankard.

Jack took notice immediately, changing from depression to suspicion in the blink of an eye. "What do you want?"

Freya raised an eyebrow. "Just some information."

He leered at her. "Yeah? Sure that's all you want, love? Never had a Burmecian before."

"I would rather sleep with a moogle," she replied curtly.

"You're a sick, sick lady." Jack said, his attention diverted to combining his various drinks into one tankard.

Freya disliked him already. "I'm looking for someone."

"Lot's of someone's around, love, Gotta be a bit more specific than that. 'Course, that's if I even want to help you. You lost me my totty."

"Totty?" Freya repeated, slightly disgusted.

Jack lazily extended the middle finger from on of his free hands. Freya bristled.

"Ipsen Coral," she stated, wanting to get away from this man as soon as possible.

Her new drinking companion stared at her. Then, without warning, he burst into laughter.

"Has something I said amused you?" Freya demanded angrily. Her nerves were already shot from lack of sleep and Jack was not helping.

Jack grinned at her once he had regained control of himself. "Where'd you hear that name, love?"

"A . . . friend told me about him."

"Ipsen aint a person, love, it's a title. One that goes back a pretty fucking long way. And a little thing like you don't want to be chasin' after the one that's called it now."

Freya felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. "It's the Flaming Amarant, isn't it?"

Jack tilted his head. "Good guess, love."

She sighed, rubbing her forehead as she tried to make sense of the new information. "But what is the Ipsen? A monk of what?"

Jack stared at her with curiosity. "Not a fucking clue," he said after a few seconds.

"What about Ipsen, I mean, the old Ipsen? Do you know where I could find him?"

Jack rearranged his face into a grin, "Yeah, I know that one, love."

"Where?"

He drew a finger across his neck. "Dead. Saw it happen, chop chop and his head went flying in the river. Near off traumatised me for life, poor impressionable child that I was."

"Was there anyone else with him? Maybe a large child with red hair?"

Again, Jack stared at her. Or, at least, he faced her in a way that made Freya feel uncomfortable. The mask covering his eyes made it impossible to even guess at what he was thinking. "I think you better tell me who you are, love. You seem to know a little bit much about things, if you get my drift."

There was something about the change in Jack's voice that surprised her. It had grown more wary, and somehow sounded older. "Freya Crescent," she answered before she could stop herself. She cursed out loud.

"Your parents must've hated you, giving you a name like that," Jack said with a smirk.

"Sorry, I-" Freya stopped , frowning at him. "Do you know who I am?"

"'Course I do, love. Think I'd have to be dead to not've heard of you."

"Oh," Freya said lamely.

"You should be getting ready for the High Ball," Jack answered with a smirk.

That left Freya without any reply. Most people knew very little about the happenings in Burmecia, and while there were celebrations in the rest of the world for Vivi's life, the ball was vastly different to all the others.

Jack cracked his knuckles, motioning a bargirl over. "Relax, love. I'll keep your little secret for the minute. Least that explains why you're trailing after Salamander."

He spanked the bargirl as she walked off with his order. Freya still did not speak; the confusion that gripped her tightening its hold. She had felt on top of the conversation before, completely in control and pressing the advantage. Now, with two simple statements Jack had turned the tables completely and the size of the grin on his face proved that he knew it.

"You're paying by the way, love."

Freya dropped a few coins on the table as the drinks set down. "Now then," Jack continued after taking a draught of his drink. "Keep the booze flowing, and I'll tell you how Ipsen died."

As Jack starting talking, Freya felt something nagging in the back of her mind. Jack was being far too helpful for her liking. It felt like she was stepping into the shallows of a pool that would eventually drown her.

----------------------------

The winter had borne snow that covered Treno in drifts of brown. "Isn't snow supposed to be white?" Salamander asked, looking up at his mentor and rubbing his bare arms in the chill.

Ipsen laughed, messing the boy's dreadlocks. "Yeah, usually. Treno's just bloody dirty."

Salamander wrinkled his nose, prodding the body of a cat with his boot. "Poor thing," he muttered.

"Everything dies. That's how the world works."

"I know, but it's sad." Salamander answered, shivering violently.

Ipsen took off his travelling pack, pulling a travelling robe from it. "Put this on." He told Salamander.

Salamander wrinkled his nose. "Why didn't you give me this earlier? I've been freezing!"

"Gotta toughen you up, lad. Yer not always gonna have luxuries about." Ipsen answered, sighing as he helped the child find the neck of the oversized garment. He untied a few straps, removing the train and essentially turning it into a tunic. It was still big enough to reach Salamander's knees.

"But I've got cold blood!" Salamander whined as he wriggled.

"Stop moving," Ipsen said, cuffing his charge lightly as he finishing adjusting the robe before straightening up.

"My arthritis is crippling me," He said, pointing to his knees and elbows, "My scars feel like they're on fire, and I've got bloody dreadful piles. So quit bitching."

Grumbling, Salamander slouched after his mentor as they walked away from the tavern they'd been staying in. It was early morning in Treno, and as they made it out of the slums the streets began to be filled with people out shopping.

"Where are we going?" Salamander asked, effortlessly lifting an apple out of a passing woman's shopping basket.

"Got to see a duck about man," Ipsen replied with a grin.

Salamander raised an eyebrow, attempting to reply around a mouthful of apple.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Ipsen said, cuffing his charge around the head again.

"Ow! Quit it!" Salamander replied, clutching his head with an oversized hand as soon as he had swallowed.

Ipsen sighed and shook his head. "You still got a lot to learn, lad."

"Then teach me something! This trip's been boring. I want to go train at the castle again."

Ipsen laughed. "So you want to go kill stuff again? Thought you just said death was sad."

Salamander frowned, flinging his apple core into a litter bin thirty feet away. "That's different. I like cats."

Ipsen frowned. "You need more lessons before we do any more training, lad."

Salamander slouched over even more, his face contorting into a very obvious sulk. Ipsen sighed, staring at the boy with a tint of sadness.

"Ipsen!" Came a shout. A four armed man with wild black hair and a bandana tied around his eyes appeared out of the crowd.

Ipsen nodded warily. "Gilly. Didn't expect to see you here."

"Same. Didn't think you'd ever be back to the Mist continent."

"I've been back a while."

"Huh. What's with the kid?" Gilly asked. The tension appeared to fade.

"My apprentice, Salamander," Ipsen answered.

Salamander moodily kicked a stone into the river.

"Didn't ever pick you for a kiddie lover. Did you manage to knock some poor girl up?"

"Got left on my doorstep after all that shit with the King few years back. He's got a lot of potential," Ipsen explained.

Gilly smirked. "It's about fucking time, too."

"You heard something?" Ipsen asked, frowning.

"There's stuff on the wind," Gilly answered with a shrug. "Whatever's coming, it's gonna be big. Nothin' to do with you, though."

"Should hope not," Ipsen grumbled, as he watched Salamander steal a loaf of bread. "Anything else going on?"

"I aint heard from Madain Sari for a while. Could be nothing, but I'm going to check it out." Gilly said, his arms crossed.

Ipsen nodded, still slightly distracted by watching his charge. "How's Jack coming along?" he asked.

Gilly shook his head. "He's making my life fuckin' difficult. I swear, that bitch Brahne's made everything so goddamned hard nowadays. Getting all the paperwork done's been a nightmare."

Ipsen snorted. "I'll stop by in a few years. See how he's doing."

"So no hard feelings then?" Gilly asked, a single eyebrow just visible above the line of his bandana.

"Wouldn't say that, just wouldn't be fair," Ipsen said, smirking.

Gilly shook his head with a laugh. "You're going to get yourself fuckin' caught, mate. There's a lot of people wanting to know what the Ipsen does."

"Then I'll just have to be more care-" Ipsen froze mid sentence. The crowd seemed unnaturally quiet. "Fucking sod's law . . . Salamander! Run back to the tavern, now!"

"What?" Salamander asked, his eyes wide as he swallowed a bite of bread.

"No arguments, go!"

"Fuck off!" He answered, "What's going on?"

"Gil, grab him!" Ipsen shouted as several masked figures appeared out of the crowd accompanying a woman with the facial features of a duck.

"It was going to happen, mate." Gilly toned, grabbing a protesting Salamander by all four of his limbs and back into the crowd. "Now you gotta make the choice."

"I believe you have something that I want, Ipsen Coral," Queen Stella simpered, fanning herself as the masked men encircled him with swords drawn.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Ipsen replied, standing straight with his arms crossed.

"Then, if that's your answer." Queen Stella motioned forwards and the men attacked. Salamander screamed, struggling in Gilly's grasp. The crowd didn't move, keeping its distance but morbidly fascinated by the scene in front of them.

Ipsen ducked under the fist sword swipe, rising in an uppercut that would have lifted the man high into the air if Ipsen had not been holding onto his tunic. Instead, he transferred the momentum into a spiral, pulling the body into him while dancing around the sword thrusts until one pierced straight through his human shield. Twisting the corpse quickly, he pulled the sword from his opponents grasp and threw the body to the floor. Unencumbered, he grabbed the smaller man and head butted him viciously.

The next attack hit him, scoring a deep gash into the side of his rib cage. Ipsen grunted and grabbed it with one hand. "That all you got, you miserable little fucks?" He screamed.

A blade flashed across the back of his legs, severing his Achilles tendon. He dropped to his knee soundlessly. One of the attackers walked in front of him and he reached out and grabbed, catching him by the groin. With a glint of viciousness in his eyes, he gripped, twisted and pulled.

The attacker screamed and collapsed as Ipsen came away with a mass of bloodied flesh and cloth. He laughed, throwing the mess straight in the previous owner's face, before being silenced by a sword hilt smacking him in the head.

Salamander was screaming louder than ever, doing his best to bite and claw his captor as Gilly tried to make it away from the crowd. "Let me go! I'll kill you! I'll fucking kill you!"

He twisted more and Gilly grunted, losing his grip slightly. Salamander took the advantage and bit Gilly on the leg, causing him to drop the struggling boy. Before Gilly could recover, Salamander was gone, barging people left and right with bizarre strength as he tried to reach his mentor. Gilly sighed, rubbing at the bite. "What the fuck is that kid?" he muttered.

The sounds of the guards began to drift down the streets and Gilly swore, casting one more fleeting look at Salamander before disappearing.

"IPSEN!" Salamander screamed, stuck in the crowd as the morbid onlookers made his progress as difficult as possible.

Queen Stella was standing in front of Ipsen. The monk was bloodied all over, but he still stayed on his knees, panting, as he cradled a badly broken arm. "You should always be nice to girls and give them what they want, Mister Coral."

Ipsen smiled, holding both arms out to show open palms. The crowd collectively made disgusted noises as the broken arm bent where it should not, flopping down to the ground. "I've aint got what you want, sunshine.

"Then I will take it," Stella replied, returning the open smile. She snapped her fan and nodded to the masked man who had recovered from the head butt. He stepped forward with another, who grabbed Ipsen by the hair and pulled it forwards, forcing Ipsen to bow his head.

"Salamander! I'm sorry!" Ipsen bellowed, managing to twist towards the sound of his charges voice.

"NO!" Salamander yelled, as he struggled against the people who seemed determined to keep him from the scene.

The sword flashed down. The man wielding it was strong, strong enough for it to cleanly pass though the bones and flesh in a single stroke. Ipsen's head lurched forward and the one holding his hair stumbled backwards before righting himself. Queen Stella nodded, and the figures passed effortlessly into the crowd.

"I'll kill you!" Salamander screamed, flashing his claws out at the crowd in desperation as he climbed over them, jumping in the direction the duck woman had disappeared in.

"Obdormiscere!" Someone shouted, and Salamander tumbled as a haze of tiredness hit him. He saw the guards disperse the crowd, led by a red mage. With all the effort he could muster, he reached out and wrapped his fingers around those of the cold, lifeless hand of Ipsen Coral.

----------------------------

Freya was enraptured. "Dear Une, that's terrible . . ."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, Stella got away with it too. This city's gotta be the most corrupt place in the world."

He grinned, downing the rest of his drink. "'S why I love it so much."

"So what happened to Amarant afterwards?" Freya asked.

Jack shrugged. "Not a clue, I legged it when I saw the guards get him. Pretty sure you can find out somethin' though."

"How?"

Jack shook his head. "Not tonight, love. I need to go fight, fuck" – Freya grimaced – "and sleep. Can sort it tomorrow."

Freya frowned. "Why are you helping me so easily?" she asked, voicing the question that had been troubling her all evening.

Jack grinned. "There's a few old scores that gotta to be settled. Seems you can help me as much as I can help you."

"What about Gilly, your father? Would it be possible to talk to him?"

Jack shook his head. "He died a few weeks after that shit happened."

He grinned at her again, standing up from his chair and downing the rest of Freya's drink. "See you in the morning. Partner." He said, blowing Freya a kiss before walking away.

"I don't know whether to kill or kiss you when I find you, Salamander," Freya muttered, paying before making her own way from the tavern.


	4. Chapter 3

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Chapter 3

Freya was shivering as she waited outside the Final Hazard. It was not long after dawn, but the eternal night kept there from being any of the sunlight she dearly needed to warm her fur up. She stamped her feet and rubbed her arms furiously, attracting laughs from a group of small children. Balefully, she stared at them, and they ran away screaming happily. "Doga, I hate Treno," Freya muttered.

"You miss me, love?" came the obnoxious greeting as Jack sauntered into view. He had changed his clothing, swapping the spats and obscenely small shorts for a pair of leather trousers and sleeveless tunic. Freya could tell that he had cut the extra arm holes in it himself. There were four swords of various shape and size strapped to his body; two rather large ones on his back, and two smaller ones at his sides.

"No," she muttered in annoyance, irritated that she was too preoccupied to even be able to insult the man properly.

Jack shrugged, taking a cigar out of his top pocket. Freya wrinkled her nose at him. "Do you mind? I have not eaten yet. The smell will make me feel nauseous," She said.

"Yeah?" Jack answered, grinning at her as he located his matches and struck one, choking the cigar down as he brought the noxious fumes to life. "We'll have to sort that, then."

Freya's lips were pursed. She had hoped that most of Jacks annoying demeanour came from the stupid amount he had drunk last night, but there was no such luck. He made her want to punch him just as badly.

"You know what I meant, Jack. And those things will kill you."

Jack laughed, apparently genuinely amused by this comment. "Yeah, right. Pull the other one, love, it's got knobs on."

Freya sighed at him. "Which way are we headed?" she asked.

"That way," Jack motioned with one of his free hands. "First we grab you some grub, then we go get busy at City Hall."

"Why City Hall?"

"Old guard reports, love. There's gotta be some accounts of Ipsen's death in there somewhere, I reckon," Jack answered, as they started to make their way towards the more expensive part of town. "'Course, might be needin' you to lose the cloak for a bit."

Freya smiled thinly. She had expected as much. "Trouble with the law, Jack? An upstanding man like yourself?"

"Piss off," Jack answered in a cloud of blue tinted smoke. It smelled strangely of wet fur.

"What makes you think that you will be treated any different if I appear as myself?" Freya asked, coughing around her words.

Jack was staring at the shop fronts. "You're fuckin' Freya Crescent, that's why. Kids argue over who gets to be you when they play. There aint a chance in hell our Mayor's going to risk pissing off someone as famous as you, love."

He grinned, grabbing Freya by the wrist and dragging her into the tiniest bistro she had ever seen. Irritated, Freya shook his hand off her as soon as she could. Jack simply looked amused by this.

The room was small, but the smell of breakfast foods was unmistakably good, and Freya could even make out the tint of black pudding in the chaotic aromas. There was only a single table for two. "This aint the main bit," Jack explained, "We're behind the kitchen. Good place to not get your conversation heard."

A head appeared out of the hatch in the wall. "Oi, Alleyway, you still fuckin' owe me for last week ye cunt. What you want?"

Jack grinned. "Two full Burmecian, mate. Make it snappy."

Freya raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, better make a crap load of tea for this one, too," he added, watching her as she sat down.

"I thought you had eaten already," she questioned, taking her hood down as a pot of tea almost immediately appeared in the hatch. Jack lifted it down.

"Never said that, love. Never said that." Jack an answered. It was only now she noticed he had dropped the remains of his cigar before they came in. "Nothin' like a little smoke before feeding, I think."

Freya wrinkled her nose. "That is disgusting. Tobacco is banned in Burmecia."

Jack grabbed the two mugs that appeared, pouring tea for himself and Freya. He overloaded his own with sugar. "Yeah, I know that, love. 'S why I never go there."

Freya stood before Jack could get up again as the food came. "Why did we need to come somewhere so private?" she asked.

Jack nodded, accepting his plate and answering around a mouthful of sausage. Freya sighed and sat down, stirring her tea carefully while she waited for him to clear his mouth. "I want you to tell me a story, tit for tat, like. Payment for the one I gave you," Jack repeated, this time audibly.

"You fail to strike me as someone particularly interested in the war, Jack," Freya answered.

"Just interested in the end, love." He said

Freya frowned. The very end of the war and their fight was something not often talked about. Everyone knew about the journey through Memoria, and the final confrontation with Kuja. After that, it disappeared into wild rumours that only a few of them knew the true meaning to. "I cannot tell you." She said.

Jack sighed, his plate already half empty. Freya had only just started on her bacon. "You can tell Alleyway Jack, love."

And there was a part of her that wanted to, as strange and twisted as the memories were. "No, Jack," she answered again, more forcefully this time.

He seemed to get the message. He coughed, standing up from the table. "'S'alright, breakfast's on me, love. We better get moving."

Freya glowered at him the entire walk to City Hall. They stopped briefly down an alleyway next to the building while Freya traded her travelling habit for the surcoat and hat that marked her out in any crowd.

"Want me to carry your bag, Sir?" Jack asked, making a mock bow.

Freya glared at him, walking straight past him. People in the street stopped and stared openly. Feeling far too open, she hurried through the doors into the reception of the building. Jack strutted behind her, gleefully saluting the guards at the door. They made a move towards him and Freya was sorely tempted to just let them take him and throw him into the darkest, smallest cell they could find.

"Wait," she sighed, just as Jack began to look worried. "He is assisting me with matters of dire importance."

"And who the hell you think you are, rat?" one of the guards asked. The other was staring at her with unsure recognition.

"Sir Freya Crescent of His Majesty King Puck VI Dragoon Knights," she answered, suddenly remembering that she had not a single piece of paperwork to prove any of this.

"Oh," the soldier managed, stepping backwards from a very relieved Jack.

"Sir Freya!" said a voice from below them, and Freya looked down to find the unholy large nose of Doctor Tot staring at her. "My dear girl, how wonderful it is to see you!"

"Doctor Tot, it certainly has been a long time," she answered uncertainly.

"Oh, dear me," he answered, energetically waving a hand at her. "Let's forgot all that nonsense last year, it's in the past! Pish posh I say."

Freya relaxed slightly. There was a reason she hardly ever touched alcohol. She felt herself blushing again as she caught Jack staring at them, with a mixture of curiosity and amusement on his face. "Doctor Tot, would you be so kind as to-"

"I'm afraid not, my dear!" he called, already rushing between the guards' legs with a pile of parchment and books. "I'm right smack in the middle of some very important research! But come visit me before you leave town!"

Freya sighed as she saw him disappear. Her hope to be rid of Jack and work with someone she could stand to have a conversation with had gone up in smoke.

"Cheer up, love," Jack said, clapping her on the shoulder – making Freya want to punch him very, very hard – and starting forwards. "Crime reports are this way."

'I'm going to find out exactly who you are, and then I am going to kill you very, very slowly,' Freya thought to herself as she followed Alleyway Jack into a musty room full of records.

The next few hours were blissful, as she sorted through the dusty scrolls contained at the opposite end of the room from Jack. The city had seen some pretty bizarre murders over the years. There was even a box marked 'Buildings' which did not contain building related deaths, as she had predicted, but cases where the building was the actual murderer. Looking at the dates, she noticed that they were very close to the beginning of the Eternal Night, which made more sense.

"Got it!" Jack yelled, interrupting her from a passage about an outhouse chasing the deputy mayor around the city.

"How can you be sure?" she called back, already back on her feet and walking towards him.

Jack handed her a box containing a single piece of paper. She read it out loud.

"A report concerning the events of – I can't make the date out – on Alexandria Way. Contents are:

15 Full witness reports.

Guard report written by Lieutenant – Doga, this writing's so bad I can barely read it - Deem Palis – I think.

Interview of deceased's child/charge 'Salamander Coral'.

Primary autopsy of victim 'Ipsen Coral'.

Theft report of body of 'Ipsen Coral'.

"Someone stole his body?" Freya asked with surprise.

"Seems it," Jack said, taking the sheet back and heading for the door. "C'mon, we can find out what's happened to the rest of it.

Freya was surprised that the system here worked so well. For a city that was so notoriously corrupt and full of criminals, it was comedic how much paperwork they kept.

The lady behind the desk beamed at Freya as Jack handed over the sheet. "Looking for some help, love. Any idea where the rest of this is?"

"Was it not in the box?" the receptionist asked, looking carefully at the sheet.

Jack shook his head.

"Well, I'm sure I could help you, if…" the girl smiled at Freya.

Freya returned the smile blankly.

"She wants your autograph, love," Jack explained.

The girl smiled sweetly and Freya quickly scrawled her name on a blank sheet of paper. "Thank you!"

Freya felt strangely like she had been blackmailed. With annoyance once again rising in her throat, she glared at the girl while she flicked through the ledger. "Here we are!" the girl exclaimed, smiling, pointing to the latest entry in the book.

"It was taken by a Doctor Tot. He lives on the east side of town, near to the armoury."

"Come on, Jack," Freya ordered, desperately suppressing the urge to hit someone.

"Oh, Miss Freya?" the girl called, leaning over the desk as the pair walked off.

"Yes?" Freya replied, her fist tightly clenched as she smiled back at the girl.

"What's Zidane Tribal _really_ like?" the receptionist asked eagerly.

"An immature, sexist, pain in the buttocks," Freya answered, leaving the girl looking quite scandalised as she left.

"That seems a bit harsh," Jack said, catching up to her.

"Not after being constantly in his presence for half a year," Freya answered, looking distractedly at a street sign to make sure she was on the right path. People were pointing at her again.

"Why do you suppose someone stole his body?" she asked, deciding that Madeleine Way sounded familiar.

"Dunno," Jack answered. "Duck woman took his head, right? No reason she didn't come back for the rest of him. Musta thought there was something inside him."

"Hmm. I fail to see how he could hide something in his head."

"You not see those dreads, love? Coulda rolled anything in them. Map, maybe."

"Or a property title," Freya mused as they crossed onto the canal walls. "But why would Tot be interested?"

Jack shrugged. "'Cos the Ipsen stuff's all secret? Hell if I know."

"Quiet, we're here," Freya said sharply. "I think it best if I talk to Doctor Tot on my own."

"You ditching me, love?" Jack asked incredulously.

"For the moment, yes," she said as she knocked on the door. "He knows me, and is more likely to talk freely without you around."

"I thought I meant somethin' to you," Jack answered, mockingly slouched as he pretended to storm off.

Freya sighed, managing to fix a smile on her face just before the door was answered.

"Freya, my dear, do come!" Tot exclaimed, staring up at her through his bottle bottom glasses. "I'm delighted that you've taken me up on my offer, simply delighted!"

"Of course, Doctor." She answered, visibly relaxing as she passed across the threshold. It would be nice to talk with some who did not swear every five seconds.

"Come, come!" he said, rubbing his hands as he shuffled forwards into the room. "Take a seat!"

Now Freya smiled openly, leaning her lance against the door and depositing the bag next to an umbrella rack that appeared to be made from an Adamantoise's foot. She propped her hat on the coat stand.

"You have my thanks, Doctor," she said as she shook her hair out of the painfully tight bun it had sat in all day.

"Oh, nonsense Freya! Stop being so painfully formal. You make me sound like I'm your teacher." Tot replied as he busily began to prepare a pot of tea. "Now, I'm not sure if you've had this before. It's from the lost continent; Eiko was kind enough to procure me some last time she was there with her parents. I believe the locals called it 'Rooibos'. The leaves are red, can you imagine?"

"I do not believe I have had it before," Freya said, watching with interest as he prepared the tea strainer. The tea set he was using was very typically Burmecian, from the three different pots, to the claw grooves in the cup as opposed to handles.

The first pot was for the water, which appeared to already full. Freya could see the wisps of steam coiling from the spout. The second pot held the strainer to prepare the tea; the water was carefully poured in to the right groove in the inside – signifying the specific amount of cups needed – and left to stew for the preferred amount of time.

"Now, I seem to remember you like yours quite strong?" Tot asked as he tipped the water over the strainer.

"Yes, please," Freya answered, feeling quite comforted by something that breathed so deeply of home. But it also awoke a terrible lump in her chest. The High Ball was in two weeks and preparations were already underway. She was meant to be heading the dance, opening the evening as King Puck's escort. She had a responsibility to be there; not just for King and country, but to Vivi as well. He would have loved the party that they threw each year.

"Now then, ladies first!" Tot declared, pouring the second pot into the third. The third pot was there to keep the tea in without it strengthening any further, while the second stood ready to prepare a second pot before the previous batch was finished. After he had poured both their cups, there was still enough left for another couple in the third pot.

Freya wondered if anyone would be visiting the graveyard this year, as she watched Tot slice a lemon. "Goes particularly well, I find." He said as he dropped a piece in her tea with some tweezers.

Freya smiled, taking her first sip. She found she quite liked it; the taste was more wild than usual, reflecting the blasting heat and harsh conditions it grew in.

"So how are you, my dear? Is it not the High Ball approaching soon?"

She knew that Tot knew full well it was, it was simply his polite way of enquiring what she was doing in Treno carrying enough supplies to travel around the whole of Gaia.

"It is," Freya admitted, "And I hope that I will be back in Burmecia before it begins. Amarant has gone missing, and I feel it is very important to find him as soon as I can."

"Ah," the Doctor replied, a small twinkle in his eye. "I see. Well, if anyone can tame that magnificent brute, it would be you."

Freya blushed under her fur. "It's not, I mean-," She sighed, and gave up. Zidane had found out last fortnight so it was bound to be common knowledge before long. "We had, oh, I'm not sure what we had. It wasn't an argument. He told me some of his history, and I think he is now under the impression that I hate him."

Tot frowned. "I won't deny that I have heard some very disturbing stories about him over the years, my dear."

"We all have times in our lives that we regret," Freya replied, "But this was not his fault. It was a matter of circumstance, nothing more. And one that he had no control over."

"I won't press you for the details," Tot said, frowning, "Some knowledge is not for everyone."

Freya blushed again, remembering the unabashed fashion in which she had admitted Amarant's parentage to Fratley.

"But Amarant hasn't been seen in Treno for months," Tot continued, "If he had, I would know about it. Certainly in the last few days."

Freya sighed. "I knew he would never come here – it's too obvious. But I hoped he might want me to find him."

"I don't think that man will ever do anything we can predict," Tot replied.

"But there is another way you could help me," Freya said, taking the report cover from her pocket and unrolling it. "The receptionist at City Hall informed me that you had removed this report for study."

"Good Lord and Lady," Tot replied, peering at it through his spectacles. "What a coincidence. May I ask why you were hoping to study them?"

Freya pointed a claw at the list of contents, "That is Amarant's real name," she informed him, tapping the word Salamander.

"Incredible," Tot murmured. "Stay right here!" he said, already shuffling off through the piles of books at great speed.

Freya was left with the sense of confusion that had gripped her so often since she left Burmecia until he returned, clutching a pile of papers and a book almost as large as himself.

"It's my life's work," he informed her breathlessly. "I've been researching the Ipsen line for years now."

"You know about Ipsen?" Freya asked, surprised enough to ask such a stupid question.

Tot smiled, placing the objects on the table and returning to his chair. "My dear, I am the authority on them.

"Now, pray tell me, how on earth did you come across them?"

Freya quickly related to him the story of the past week, how Amarant had been adopted by the foul mouthed monk - while skirting the issue of his real father - and how she had discovered that he had inherited the title. It took a bare few minutes to convey the correct details, but Tot was still fascinated.

"My word," he said, "I hadn't even entertained the thought that it could be Amarant. But of course, he fits it so well!"

"What do you mean?" Freya asked, curiously. She attempted to take a sip of her tea, only to find it had gone cold.

"The Ipsen is a battling monk, the remains of an ancient order who worshipped Doga and Une. I believe they actually held undiscovered documents related to the Loving Gods, but that's entirely unimportant to Amarant. You see, I've come across many accounts of men calling themselves 'Ipsen' through the ages. The most famous would perhaps be the children's play of Colin, the faithful friend who battled across the mist continent with Ipsen as he returned to his family, and the cartographer Ipsen who helped make the first world map with Cid I.

"There has never been much in the way of a physical description attached to these mentions, but when they have, they have all been similar in many respects. The Ipsen always, without fail, has long dreadlocks and uses the style of weaponry we refer to as 'Cat Claws'. Their martial art style is fast and aggressive, suited mainly for battling gigantic creatures or creatures much stronger than themselves."

Freya was nodding subconsciously, and Tot smiled at her. "Fascinating, isn't it? I think I may also have found a description of one of Amarant's more unique abilities, too."

He handed Freya the journal, pointed to a block of his writing underneath a yellowed photograph. "And the monk did sit in the middle of the battle to pray. A shining light like touch of Doga did envelop Sir Cecil and his wounds did begin to heal. When Sir Cecil was struck down by a mighty blow, he did rise again without the feather of the phoenix."

She looked at the photograph pinned above and wondered how on earth Tot has managed to interpret that when every other letter appeared to be 'y'. "That sounds exactly like Aura," she agreed.

Tot beamed at her. "I'd never dreamed that it could be someone who I had actually met that bore the name now. What a pleasant surprise."

"Do you have any idea what the Ipsen do?" Freya asked.

Tot shook his head. "Specifically, no, I'm afraid that I don't. Although I am convinced they exist to protect something. I was hoping something may have been mentioned in the report."

"Does it say what happened to Salamander?" Freya asked, veering back to the true purpose of her enquiries.

"Ho hum, I believe it did," Tot answered, already flicking through the papers. "Ah hah! Here it is."

He read the paper out loud. "The boy, Salamander Coral was detained several days for questioning. He did little but make death threats towards all that approached him, before falling into silence for a period of many hours. Officer Ophelia Henrickson collected a statement three days after he had been detained, and the child was released.

"That's all there is," Tot explained, setting the paper back down and hading Freya another piece of paper. "Except for this, the statement."

"They kicked a child out into the streets. That's deplorable." She muttered as she scanned the report. It was all there, exactly as Jack had related to her. Even his father was mentioned in the statement, along with a footnote that prompted further investigation into the whereabouts of 'Payday Gil', which appeared to be the man's known alias.

"Men and their nicknames," she sighed, dropping the paper back down as Tot finished preparing a second cup of tea from the magically warmed pots. Freya sipped it gratefully.

"What about Queen Stella? She was after Ipsen, so is it possible she would know something?" Freya asked.

Tot shook his head. "No, I already tried that particular avenue of investigation. It appears that she was unsure what it was the Ipsen guarded, just that it must be valuable. It may interest you to know that the head was stolen from her the very next day."

"So both the body and the head were stolen? I thought it might be her who took the body. Could it have been Salamander, then?"

"No, he was still detained. I think now that it may have been this 'Gilly' character that the Ipsen appeared to have known. It sounded like they shared some similar secrets, so it's entirely possible that Gilly did it to protect them. The only question is what it is that the Ipsen carried on him that was so important.

"Has any of this been any help to you, my dear?" Tot asked over his own cup, holding it somewhat precariously as his fingers were not quite the right shape for the grooves.

"Unfortunately it has not, Doctor. I still feel as lost as I did before coming to Treno. Quite possibly even more so," Freya replied.

"But there is one major clue you seem to have overlooked," Tot said, his eyes twinkling once again.

Freya shook her head, too tired to be able to contemplate his words.

"My dear, where have you been that has the name Ipsen attached to it?" Tot asked.

Freya thumped her tail in surprise. "Of course, Ipsen's Castle. How could I be so stupid as to overlook that? But how on earth am I to get there?"

"I think you should pay a little visit to Alexandria via the Gargant," Tot answered after blowing on his tea enough so that it had cooled enough to drink, "I'm sure the Queen and Zidane would be more than happy to help you across the water, and I believe Zidane may have some information that could help. It's my understanding he had a few run-ins with Amarant before the war.

"And of course, you must stay here tonight my dear; I couldn't possibly have you pay for accommodation when I have more than enough room to keep you comfortable."

"That is most kind of you," Freya answered as she rose from her chair. "I have a companion who will be travelling with me, and I should inform him. I won't be long."

"Of course, of course," Tot said, "They are most welcome to a bed here as well, for the night."

Freya looked a little disturbed. "I do not think that is the best idea, Doctor," she answered as she navigated her way to the door.

Stepping outside, she looked around, shivering slightly in the cool air. She guessed that it must be late evening by now, but it was so hard to tell without the presence of the sun. "Jack?" she called.

A shadow detached itself from a nearby wall. He had some sort of liquor bottle in one of his hands. "Took your bleeding time, love."

Freya snorted. "Do you still want to come with me? I have a suspicion I may need an extra hand, or four," she added humourlessly.

"Yeah, why, you got a new lead then?" Jack answered, managing to look like he was slouched against something while stood in the middle of the street.

"Yes, sort of. I leave for Alexandria in the morning. Meet me here when the shops open."

Jack smirked, "Not gonna invite me in then, love? Show you why four hands beat two every time."

"Good night, Jack." She said firmly, shutting the door behind her.


	5. Chapter 4

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Chapter 4

_I sighed in relief, digging my lance point into the ground and slipped down it, too tired to stand. I could feel my regenerative magic beginning to knit myself back together, but it was going to take a while._

"_We did it! We did it! We did it!" I heard Eiko and Vivi yell, and I smiled as I watched them dance around in joy. They were only kids and yet, they'd come this far. They'd stood up against things that the rest of us had almost run from in fear. Except maybe Amarant. I shot a careful look over at him. He was staring off at something and I vindictively wondered what it was like to have no soul._

_"There's something else." He said._

_Now everyone stared at him. That was the only warning we got, before the whole world turned to chaos. The next I knew, I was standing in the air, lance in hand, roaring as I aimed up at something I instinctively knew was very bad. Somehow, I knew its name was Necron._

_I knew that Zidane was with me, and Vivi, and Amarant. I knew that the others had given their last strength to us for the fight. And I knew that absolutely everything depended on us winning._

_But I don't know how long we fought; I may have tranced four or five times. Zidane must have hit it more than ten. Vivi was letting off spells that none of us had ever seen before, while Amarant supported us with burning Auras._

_One spell from the beast was all it took. It was the worst pain I have ever experienced in my life, and as soon as it finished I was convinced that it was the end. There was little more than a spider thread keeping me alive. I heard a snarl, and thought it must be Necron about to finish us._

_The finishing blow didn't come, and gradually my strength began to restore. I saw him, then, standing in front of us with ornate, twisting spires growing from his back and shoulders. Lightning crackled between them and light pulsated under purple skin. His hair looked like it could cut you._

_"Amarant can trance?" I heard Zidane yell, over the claps of thunder that rocked the area._

_I nodded mutely._

_I had never seen anything move so fast. He was up the side of the demon's body leaving an explosive wake of thunder and No Mercy before I could blink. Bits began to fall, mixed with cries of pain that felt like hammer blows. All three of us watched as he reached the creature's head, flashing his arm in and out of its skull like a snake's tongue._

_It must have been so weak and tired at that point, I thought, to let one of us touch it like this. It was a god, dark and terrible, something incomprehensibly strong. How could we have come this far? _

_Amarant's next No Mercy filled the skies, viciously ripping the top half of Necron to shreds._

_I stared at him in awe and fear, as blue skies flooded in._

-------------------

"Oi. Wake up, love. The gargant's stopping," Jack said, a thick clog of cigar smoke drifting into Freya's face.

She awoke; gasping for air after the coughing fit had subsided. "How long have I been asleep?" she asked.

"Passed out after we left. You and the Doctor doing the dirty all night?"

Freya grimaced. "Please stop being so depraved, Jack. It makes for very poor conversation. I was reading through all of Doctor Tot's notes."

Jack smirked. "Changed your mind about the Castle?"

"Sorry?" she responded, still slightly asleep, "Oh, no, other subjects. He had some fascinating texts about the Loving Gods. Schisms that were cut from the Tantarian."

Jack nudged her shoulder, pointing to the visible platform, "No time for that now, love. Looks like we got a welcome party."

Blinking the last of the sleep from her eyes, Freya looked ahead. The platform was already occupied by a small contingent of Pluto Knights, heading by their Captain, Adelbert Steiner. They all had their swords drawn.

"Declare yourself!" Steiner shouted as the gargant pulled to a stop.

"Hello, Sir Adelbert," Freya greeted warmly, pulling the hood down that had kept her ears from freezing in the cold tunnel.

Steiner smiled, sheathing his sword. "Sir Freya! This is an unexpected surprise, who is your companion?"

Jack lazily waved a hand. "This is Jack," Freya answered as she stepped down from the carriage, "He is assisting me in some personal matters."

Steiner frowned, "Aren't you the thief who stole from Vivi Ornitier?"

"Pretty good memory you got there, Sir," Jack answered as he followed his travelling companion onto the platform.

The Pluto Knights raised their swords at him, and he followed suite with his hands. "But you got the stuff back, right? I'm a changed man." He continued swiftly, his voice full of sparkles and rainbows.

Steiner grunted, sheathing his sword. "Keep those hands to yourself while you're in Alexandria, or I'll cut them off. What brings you here?" he asked, directing the question to Freya.

"I had hoped to speak to Zidane or Dagger," Freya answered, "I apologise, but this will only be a short visit."

One of the Pluto Knights following them smirked at the use of the Queen's nickname. Steiner cuffed him round the head. "Ten times round the training yard, Haagen. I'm afraid the Queen is in Lindblum at the moment, but Zidane should be somewhere in the castle. Most likely the north tower."

"Good. I would like to avoid going into town."

Steiner nodded. "Sir Fratley's been looking for you."

Freya glanced hastily at the band of knights following; this was the beginning of a conversation she would prefer to be private. ". . . It's important, Adelbert."

Steiner nodded, changing the subject as they began climbing the stairs. "I'm sorry we had to greet you like this, but we've been having some problems with the gargant tunnels."

"Monsters?" Freya asked, feeling more gratitude than interest.

"Some, but nothing the patrols cannot deal with. Smugglers have started using them to bring opium into the city."

"Drugs? Gods, Zidane must be furious."

Steiner nodded, stopping to find the right key to unlock the door at the top of the staircase. "He is. He spent the last six months putting an alarm system in the tunnels."

"I did wonder how you knew someone was coming."

"Dismissed!" Steiner bellowed at the knights as they filed into the castle. "He's been going to the schools, telling them about what happened to Ruby."

"That poor girl," Freya sighed, watching the soldiers leave, "I wish I had been able to attend her funeral."

"She's in a better place," Steiner answered, his own gaze lingering on Jack, who happened to be inspecting a painting.

"Nice work," Jack commented, "Michael Margrace?"

"I don't want him in the castle," Steiner said, ignoring the thief's comment.

Freya nodded. "Jack? I think it would be best if we meet in town this evening."

"I don't get to meet the Royals? Been looking forward to that," Jack answered.

"There is a bar called the Mended Drum on the square. I will see you there." She answered.

Jack grunted, slouching as he left for the city. "Doga, that man is an absolute nightmare," Freya said, turning back to her old companion.

"He is a criminal," Steiner stated, "and not a suitable travelling companion for you."

"If he were not as useful as he has proved himself to be, I assure you I would be nowhere near him."

"Is he an associate of Amarant's?"

Freya cursed internally. Even just hearing his name unexpectedly made her feel terrible. "I do not think so. Jack seems scared of him."

"Hmph," Steiner answered, "Another man you should have no business with."

"I fail to see how that is any of _your_ business," Freya answered, her temper flaring slightly, "If you will excuse me, I will look for Zidane."

Steiner nodded, "I apologise. I did not mean to offend you. It is hard to not to listen to the rumours."

Freya grimaced. "Oh, Doga. Does the whole world know now?"

Steiner stared at her perplexedly. Feeling slightly abashed, Freya left.

She eventually located Zidane on top of one of the restored castle turrets, only to immediately dissolve into a fit of laughter.

"Who's there?" Zidane answered to the peals, hastily stowing the book he had been reading and looking down.

Freya waved, trying to stifle her mirth with her other hand.

"Freya!" he exclaimed, skidding down the steep cone and jumping on her. "I was wondering when you'd get here."

"Get off, you brute," Freya said as she tried to catch her breath and push him off.

Zidane beamed at her, standing up before offering her a hand. Freya collapsed against the wall, failing miserably to stop laughing. "Your beard!"

Zidane's face was covered in what could only be described as blond coloured fluff. "Dagger likes it," he answered, stroking it protectively.

Freya raised an eyebrow, and Zidane laughed as well. "Okay, okay, she hates it. But she makes me wear some awful stuff half the time, so I had to get back at her somehow."

She had a flash in her mind of Zidane when they had first met. "Do you ever wish that all of this had never happened?" She asked, before she had time to stop herself.

"Every morning," Zidane answered as he slid down the wall to sit next to her. "But then I look over and see Dagger next to me, and I know I'd do it all again in a second."

Freya nodded, trying not to dwell on how Amarant had begun to make her feel the same way.

"He's not Fratley, you know." Zidane said, seemingly reading her mind. "He'll come back."

She sighed.

"He's been here, Fratley. Looking for you, seems Puck's pretty pissed at you running off like that."

"I love him, Zidane," Freya answered, "He is more important to me than anything. I doubt Vivi would begrudge me for missing the Ball because of that."

The Prince Regent nodded. "He wouldn't. That kid knew more about heart than the rest of us put together."

Freya hesitated for a second. "Zidane, I feel dreadful about what happened to Ruby-"

He cut her off, shaking his head. "I don't want to talk about her. I've been talking about her every day since she died and . . . I haven't let it sink in yet."

Freya frowned. "But all this work in the schools and tunnels . . ."

Zidane sighed, a sad smile on his lips. "I know, I know, everyone thinks this has hit me really badly. 'Cept Dagger, and you. Does it make me a terrible person that I needed something to get me out of the Castle and doing something?"

"Everyone deals with sadness differently, that does not make you a bad person. I ran, when Fratley remembered."

"That's not really the same."

"It is, certainly for me. My heart broke when my friends died in the War, and it broke just as painfully when Fratley said he loved someone else." Freya answered, hugging her knees.

"Hrmph," Zidane grunted by way of a response. "Is he still living with her?"

"You mean Claire? Yes, they have a daughter now. Fratley named her Sal."

Zidane laughed. "I don't get those two. They spend the day trying to kill each other, and the night getting pissed together. Doesn't make any sense."

Freya smiled with him. "I seem to remember him doing the same thing with you, once. I think Amarant finds the standard concept of friendship abhorrent."

"I still owe him a rematch, don't I?"

". . . I need to borrow Choco."

The genome snorted. "You really are in love with him, aren't you? I miss chatting to you. I hardly get to see you anymore."

"Zidane . . ."

"No, I can't let you borrow Choco."

Freya frowned. "Why not?"

"He's gone, we think Amarant came here and took him a few weeks ago."

"How on Gaea did he get here so fast?" she asked, not really expecting an answer.

Zidane shrugged. "I can lend you the Fenreal. It's the smallest ship we've got with a black drive."

"But that's Garnet's ship, isn't she using it?"

"No, she went in the Red Rose. It's a relief mission, so there's a load of people on the ship. They're still rebuilding from the zombie attack."

Freya nodded, standing up and brushing down her surcoat in an almost feminine way. "Thank you. Can you arrange for us to leave this evening?"

"Sure, I need to pack a few things anyway," Zidane answered, stretching as he regained his feet.

". . . I'm sorry, Zidane."

"Oh. Well, you better come tell me everything once you find the idiot."

---------------

Jack was sat-, no, he was _sprawled _on the Queen's chair, fumigating the ship with his ruddy cigar and grinning like a vice.

Freya took the least stressful course of action and ignored him.

"We must be off course," she stated, staring on the charts laid on the table.

The navigator shook his head. "I've checked out position three times, Sir. The castle should be in this valley."

Freya frowned, still staring at the map. They were in the right place, she knew that. All the surrounding scenery was the same; the shape of the canyon, the rock formations at the south end. But the castle failed to be in sight, and that was another mystery she did not have the patience for. "Take us lower," she said.

The navigator nodded, taking his leave to relay the instruction to the pilot. They were the only two other people on the airship.

"Jack," Freya sighed, turning towards him, "I need your opinion on this."

She silently raged at the smug smirk that grew across his face. Smirk failed to convey the expression truthfully. Smirk was Jack's natural state of existence. It was almost draconian.

He undraped himself, two arms stretching while a third scratched at his stubble. "First time you talk to me since we left and you want something. I aint your wife."

Freya snapped. "Doga, Jack! Is it utterly impossible for you to stop being a complete pig for even ten minutes?"

Jack stopped scratching. The smirk on his face was fixed. It looked strained.

"I . . . apologise," Freya continued, turning away as her eyes began to flush. "You have done much to help me, I should not have spoken to you like that. I think I may be losing my grip somewhat."

Jack grunted. His expression was blank.

"It's getting so hard. All I want is to get him back and all that happens is I stumble into more and more secrets. Monks and vanishing castles and _you. _I just want him back."

Neither of them spoke to each other. The silence was eventually broken by the pilot. "We're 200 feet over the canyon, Sir. What do you want us to do?"

"Stay here until you see a signal," Jack grunted, grabbing Freya's wrist as he walked to the ships railings.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" Freya demanded as she was dragged along.

"Just 'cos it's gone don't mean nothing's left, love," he answered in the same deepened tone, as two other arms pulled Freya into a cradle.

Freya tried to push herself free as she realised what he was doing. "Let me go, Jack! This is insane!"

He jumped.

-----------------

_One week prior_

_Night on this continent was brittle and sharp. It shared its unfortunate, extreme climate with the deserts of the world, and those creatures hardy enough to survive were sensible to hide themselves away as darkness fell. There was not a monster of fiend to be found. And yet . . ._

_A single, monolithic figure stood on the lip of the canyon, staring at the construction known as Ipsen's Castle. The wind was howling, tearing at his heavy travelling coat with burnt dust and sand. His dreadlocks ripped in all directions._

_Carefully, he reached out his free hand – the other encumbered by the glint of metal – and placed the castle on his palm. " ," he said, the name lost in the into the tumbling sky. The castle came away in his hand, the freakish structure little more than a gemstone._

_-----------------_

Freya and Jack had hit the ground fighting. All the previous denizens of the castle had been waiting – gargoyles, tonberries, ashe, and Freya found herself slaying the replicas of Jack with immense satisfaction. It was the most soothing action she had ever taken in her life. Jack himself had dispatched several tonberries on his own. Now, she was perched on a rock, wincing as her ribcage knit itself back together. Jack had drifted off, apparently looking for the cigar he had lost on the way down. He was picking his way through the books and ornaments, showing only a passing interest in the wondrous things that had once been contained in the castle. Even the map that had housed the shrine keys was lying not too far away.

"How did you do that?" she shouted at him when her lungs stopped hurting.

"Do what?" he asked, not bothering to look up from his search.

"Fall two hundred feet and kill five tonberries!"

"Aha!" Jack yelled in success, holding up the disgusting black tube. "There it is."

This apparently was his answer, as he said no more. Against all probability, the cigar had survived the fall intact. It was even still lit.

"Stop avoiding my questions! What _are _you?"

"Oi, stop pissing about love. Get over here. Your prey's left tracks."

"Amarant?" Freya asked, jumping neatly to arrive alongside her voice. "How do you know?"

Jack nudged a satchel with his foot. It lay in the wreckage of the castle's contents, atop a scattering of large books. There was a pair of cat claws poking through the side. He flipped the buckles open, revealing a stack of rising suns and several books.

"The Dawn of Time, Apocrypha Tantaria, Tenebris ex Eidolon . . . These are heavy reading, love," Jack said, looking completely unsurprised.

"Why those?" Freya asked as she stared at an envelope marked with her name. It was empty.

Jack shrugged in a way that clearly indicated he was ignorant, but also that he was lying. Freya sighed.

"Fine, don't tell me."

"The books are from Daguerreo."

"Then we should go. It's possible someone knows something about what Amarant is doing, if he has been there."

Jack snorted, running a hand through his hair. He suddenly looked very tired. "You shouldn't come, love," he answered.

"Wha-"

He interrupted her. "You really love him? You want to see him again, no matter what?

"What? Yes, of course I do!"

"How much you love him?"

Freya stopped, not speaking for a minute. "I love him so much I feel slightly disgusted with how pathetic I'm being. Why are you asking me this?"

"There's . . . secrets, right? And then there's _secrets_. If you run any further after him you're gonna be finding out stuff you'll wish you hadn't. It's gonna get really dangerous, love."

"I don't care about your bloody secrets! I _won't _let this happen again! I won't lose him!"

Jack grinned, and the cigar tumbled to the floor, embers scattering under his foot. He threw up a hand, letting a stream of pyrotechnics scream through the sky, bursting in sight of the airship. "Right answer. Now, let's teach you some _real _history."


	6. Chapter 5

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Chapter 5

The Fenreal was flying low, keel slicing a wake through the ocean below. Somehow Jack had talked his way into taking the helm and they were heading south, the compact airship pushed to the limits of the new technology. Black drives had only been around the last few months; a joint creation between Cid Fabool and, well, Kuja. Technically.

It all came from Vivi's death. He was the only mage anyone had cared about, and with his passing, the vocal majority suddenly decided it would be a Jolly Good Idea to figure out how to stop the mages, well . . . Stopping. No-one wanted to see his children go too. The studies had raised yet another insight into how impressively fucked up the Angel of Death had been. Black mages were a kind of walking perpetual motion machine, or as close as could be achieved without the universe putting the whole thing down as a bad job and slitting its metaphysical wrists. They were a power source, and a bloody powerful one. But the other thing, the really _sick _thing that had let them talk and walk and love . . .

They had Terran souls curled up inside them, tightly twined around the chaos to give those two little sparks of intelligence that hovered beneath their hats. And the reason why black magic is black, and why hardly anyone uses it anymore, is that it eats the soul. Some tell of an afterlife of clouds and angels, some tell of the Lifestream, some tell of weird and wonderful concepts too numerous to be listed. But it is known that a black mages soul will be completely destroyed with their death. It's the bargain, the Devil's pact itself.

Surprisingly, it was Eiko who came up with the idea, making Cid unbelievably proud of her – although not to the extent that he would buy her that pony. It had the simple, genius quality to it that only children seem capable of achieving. 'So can't you make them without the souls?' she'd asked. After a while, they discovered they could, bringing a new, renewable, clean energy source to the planet. It was especially good for airship construction; the new ones being made were faster than the Invincible.

Freya found herself strangely at ease. Answers were what she wanted. What she needed. And finally, she was going to get some. "What happened to the castle?" she shouted over the wind.

"What?" Jack yelled back.

"I said, what happened to the castle?"

His fun finished, and the caverns of Daguerreo just over the horizon, Jack relinquished control. The ship gained altitude and slowed considerably almost as soon as the pilot took his place. The rogue pulled another cigar from inside his tunic and lit it. A cloud enveloped his head as he took lean next to Freya. This one smelled like a damp cave.

"Someone took it," he answered.

Freya stared at him in a way that blatantly said that this failed to be an adequate explanation.

Jack sighed, scratching with a free hand. "It's like, things aint always what they look, love. Sometimes a castle aint really a castle."

"Then what was it?"

He paused or a split second. "Dunno love," he answered.

"Stop lying to me, Jack. Every other thing you say seems to be a lie and I _know _it is," Freya retorted, still oddly calm as she challenged him.

". . . When'd I lie to you, love?"

"I think you know everything about Ipsen, you just refuse to tell me. So you pretend that you do not know. I think that every single answer of ignorance that you have given to me is a lie,"

". . . Christ, rat. You dunno how to keep your snout out of it, do you?"

"Just, please Jack, please stop lying. If you feel that you cannot tell me something, do not."

Jack nodded, frowning slightly. "Alright. Need to teach you lotta that stuff anyway."

"Then what about all the debris in the canyon, and the monsters?"

"Everything people put in there got left behind. Furniture, books, the monsters. All of it. Stuff that weren't a part of it. They don't belong there."

"How can they not be a part of it?"

Again, Jack was silent.

"Doga, Jack! You said you were going to give me answers!"

"Aha!" Jack exclaimed, grinning at her, "I didn't say shit like that. I said I'd teach you, love, and that's a whole world of different."

She frowned.

"Look, right, if someone tells you somethin', you may know it but you don't understand all the whys and whats, right?" Jack continued. "But if you make them work it out on their own, give 'em a push in the right direction, right info like, they _learn _it 'stead of know it. Everything makes more sense. That, and, this aint knowledge to take lightly. You'll get that better if you see everything."

"Hm, I think I understand. But how are you going to teach me?"

Jack fixed her with an expressionless mask full of scorn. "Fuck, love, you can be bloody dense sometimes. Scholar's paradise, Daguerreo."

"Oh, gods," Freya groaned, as flashbacks to school began pouring into her head. She had always been much more interested in training than her studies.

"Don't worry, love. I'll be pointin' you in the right directions," Jack said, his grin back to its old imbalanced glare.

"Can you tell me who took it? Or is that another thing I must learn for myself?"

"Can tell you it wasn't Amarant, love."

"How do you know that? He has been there recently, so is it not most likely to be him?"

"Maybe so, maybe so. But he aint capable. He never got taught that shit."

"Sir, Daguerreo in sight!" the pilot interrupted, denying Freya the chance of another question.

"Thank you," Freya answered, shooting a warning glance at Jack. "I believe we will use the teleport this time."

Jack had the decency to look embarrassed as she turned into energy. His orb followed hers quickly, and the two drifted down to the ground. Freya laughed as Jack threw up.

"Vindictive cow," Jack muttered as he slouched towards the caves, Amarant's satchel slung over his shoulder.

"What was that?" Freya retorted sharply.

Jack huffed.

The library of Daguerreo was one of the most beautiful places in the world; carved out of the mountain by the leviathan himself in a time long past gone. Even though he was gone, some presence of his still remained that Freya felt, reverberating in the constant silken hiss of the water. It felt like waves on a hot day, lapping at her soul. There were more people here than Freya had ever remembered; now anyone with an airship access could get to the library – thanks again to the cannibalisation of Terran technology – rather than only those that could fight their way past the Grand Dragons that nested outside.

And, fully obeying the laws of places that require intense concentration, there was a group of noisy children on a field trip.

"Oh, Une . . ." Freya said dejectedly, pulling Amarant's hood back over her head.

Jack pulled back on his harlequin grin.

"Don't you dare, Jack," she warned as the portable noise machines screamed past them to an offensive little booth. She could see it sold postcards and gaudy little trinkets on a loop of wire. She sighed again when she saw the Leviathan action figures

Jack shrugged. "Was your lot who told everyone where it is, love." His grin turned into a more natural smile. "I remember when there was like, four of us who knew where this was."

"Four? Then where did all the books come from?"

Jack fell silent, not speaking again until they arrived upstairs in the main section of the library. Even then, it was only to say "Here," as he wrenched a book case to the side, revealing a small room of private study.

He dumped the satchel on the table. "Back in a jiffy, love. Need to get you a bit more supplement."

Freya nodded. After he was gone, she took the contents of Amarant's bag out and stared at them. The three books were there, and an assortment of healing vials. There were no phoenix tufts, but then, Amarant had never needed them. It was the cats claws she picked up and looked at, remembering what it had been like when they had gone to the castle the first time. None of their weaponry had worked, and it was Amarant who had wrenched open a chest near the entrance that contained all kinds of weaponry.

"Use these," he'd grunted, chucking the basic weaponry over to each of them.

"There's no magic in them," Zidane had replied, easily picking the dagger out of the air and staring at it. It looked exactly like the one he had given to Garnet.

Amarant shrugged. "Just do it,"

And the group had accepted it, as a whole, especially when it worked. No one had questioned how Amarant knew the chest was there, how he'd known that un-augmented weaponry would be effective. He was Amarant; when he said things, you listened to him, because it was only ever to stop you from dying.

Freya wished that she'd questioned him a lot more.

"Bastard," she muttered, burying her head in the soft leather of the satchel.

She blinked. Her nose had brushed again something that wasn't leather. Freya sat up again, turning the bag inside out and scrunching up the lining. A small book was in there. It took a second with the cat's claws to tear it out.

The inside of the slim volume was covered in Amarant's surprisingly neat writing. Each page had separate information on it; A date, at the top. A name. A list of locations and times, mixed with various information that was different for each one. Then, in the bottom corner, either 'completed', 'cancelled', or 'failed'.

Freya realised it was the records of a mercenary with a sick feeling in her stomach. She knew that was what he had been, but there was a difference between knowing and seeing this meticulous journal of plans and consequence. She flicked through, looking for the one name she was sure would be there.

Garnet's page wasn't just about her. There was information about all of them there, their strengths, their weaknesses, everything. The word abandoned was at the bottom. The information about her appeared to have been scribbled over, quite violently. "Oh, Sal," she whispered, staring at the page without reading anymore.

The next page had been torn out, leaving a serrated edge between the last of their secrets and the clean white of his new start. Freya ran her finger over it, noticing that there were grooves left from a pencil being used a little too hard. She could just about make out a large 'O', the rest of the word was a mystery.

"What's that you've got?" Jack asked, shattering her thoughts.

"Something I do not wish to talk about," she answered simply, placing it in her pocket. She was glad that Jack had returned before she had started crying.

"Hmph, whatever. We better get you started."

"What exactly am I looking for?"

"Understanding. This one first," he answered.

Freya took the book from him, noting the title on the cover to be 'Tenebris Ex Eidolon'. She opened it to the spot Jack had bookmarked.

'This following recollection was saved until Skyhammer was near his end, having refused to talk of it until then. Even so, the dying dwarf charged me with a task to complete before he would finish imparting his knowledge of the Eidolons. He had sent me through the village onto the path to the IIfa tree (a place I was most fortunate to be allowed to visit, as entrance is usually only permitted at the closing of a marriage ceremony). He directed me some way along the path, where upon I discovered a small shrine beset with four jewels. He had told me to hide these in four locations, after depositing the items he had given me inside the shrine. The shrine was a magnificent piece of engineering; different compartments opened depending on the number of the jewels that were used in the lock.

I completed the task, and returned a little worse for the wear after my confrontations with the local spawn. He laughed when I asked him why I had done this – a sickly laugh that filled me with remorse that this man of amazing knowledge would soon be leaving our earthly plain – before he made his reply. It was at once, he said, a reward for travellers with keen eyes and unhealthy curiosity, and at twice his final puzzle to the world. But I have digressed. The information that Skyhammer imparted to me that morn has gone further in proving my theories than the cumulative of much of my research. I have not written the account verbatim, as much of his speech was filled with the colloquialisms of the Dwarven people. My account is in Alexandrian, and I hope there is no substance lost in translation.

"When I was a young boy, I went with my father to the frozen lands over the western sea. I saw many amazing sights there. We visited the strange temple to a pair of gods - one of which was female – filled with monks who looked more like warriors. We saw the shimmering isles that appear when it is right for them to do so (AN: He did not specify any further on this, but I imagine that this time pertained to some occasional change in the tides caused by the moons' paths.). But the most wonderful of these sights, I fell upon by accident. Our main reason for travel was for the climbing; we had grown bored of the red cliffs surrounding us and wished to attempt the icy peaks that were numerable there.

"It was during one of these climbs that the rope I wore to tether myself to my father frayed on the ice, and snapped. I fell some 30 feet onto a ledge that collapsed beneath me. Instead of finding myself falling further down the mountain – from which I surely would have perished – I tumbled into the opening of a cave that had hitherto been concealed by a layer of ice. Answering my father's cries to assure him that I was alive and unhurt, I continued in, using my lantern to light the way.

"What I saw inside that cave amazed me, but not until my first feelings of dread had disappeared. The first thing I had seen littering the floor were bones, along with signs of habitation. It did not take long to realise that these belongings were as old as time (A.N: This phrase appears to be our equivalent for the dwarfish, which appears to have the full meaning of 'Older than me, my father, my fathers-father, and your mother'. I do not understand the relevance of saying 'your mother', as dwarfish women appear to have the same life-spans as the male.) and preserved by some kind of strange magic woven into the cave. It was the walls that changed my feelings, as they were covered in head to foot with pictures shot with vivid colour. I immediately recognised some of them as eidolons, the same pictures I had seen upon the walls in Madain Sari. But it was only some, Atamos and Leviathan looked as they had looked. Shiva appeared barely more than a child.

"Of the others, their forms were vastly different and it took me time to recognise but a handful. Ramuh was the first, appearing as a great lizard of thunder, his tail wrapped around that of Bahamut. The lightning that enveloped him meant it could be no other. There was another grouping above them of three figures, one was a woman with fire for hair, and the other two were men clothed in white – one in armour, one in furs. Their feathered wings marked the armoured man as Alexander, and the woman as Phoenix. It is possible the third was Madeen, but I do not know as I have never seen anything other than the name of this eidolon near that of Alexander's. Above them the wall was black, as if something had been painted over."'

Freya shot her head up from the page. "I saw this picture," she told Jack, pointing at the description, "In the south gate chapel."

Jack nodded as he bent over the description, "Aye, that's the same one. Didn't know you'd been there, love."

"It was the first place I looked for Amarant. I saw a man in black armour too, but only briefly. I thought that the glass was playing tricks on my eyes."

Jack failed to answer Freya's own probe for information. She sighed.

"So why did the eidolons change shape?" Freya asked, trying a different question.

Jack handed her another book, titled 'The Eidolon and I'. "Thought there was more in it," he grunted.

There were two bookmarks in this one. Freya opened the book to the first one, which had a chapter title printed above the main text of 'Metamorphosis'.

"Shiva took the form of a young girl when she was first discovered. She now appears as a grown woman. Eidolons adapt their forms to the time and culture in which they appear. Shiva illustrates this theory. In certain areas, Shiva is depicted as a snow fairy. This cannot be verified, since the only written document that remains is in the summoner village. People associate Shiva with the snow fairy. Why she changes forms remains a mystery," she read aloud, looking at a print depicting Shiva both as a fairy and as a woman.

"Had the other person not read this book?" she asked.

Jack snorted. "I doubt it; Tenebris is a few centuries older than this."

"Oh," was all Freya could manage as a reply, feeling slightly foolish. The other bookmark was barely a paragraph.

"We discovered eidolons by researching legends documented from around the world. The Thunder God, Ramuh, is one of those legends. Some theorize that the eidolons were created from the legends, and not the other way around," she read, again out loud.

Freya frowned, trying to think while at the same time distracted by the weight of Amarant's journal as she shifted in her seat. "So the eidolons change shape because . . . we believe they look that way?" she hazarded.

Jack grinned. "Hit the nail on the head, love. But there's more to it than that. Why didn't the bloke recognize some of the ones on the cave wall when he'd been to the summoner tribe?"

"Well, it must be to do with how people think of them . . ."

"Nearly there, love," Jack said, nodding.

"Then if our legends create them, they die when the legend does?"

"Almost, but that's as much you can get from this, so no hard feelings," her teacher replied.

"Then what is the full answer?"

Jack scratched. "Weeell, it's like this, right. Names give things shape, right? Like, winter gives you an image and stuff. If you take . . . Actually, that's a shit analogy. There aint a good one. If you forget an eidolon, the form goes but the essence stays. They're forces of nature."

"So they're not created by legends?"

"Which came first, the chocobo or the egg?" Jack replied, "Sorry. That's about as much as'll make sense. Fucking philosophy."

"Amarant told me something the night he left, about eidolons. Please, just tell me if I am right," Freya asked - oh-so-familiar feelings of exasperation and homicidal tendency creeping back to her.

"See what I can do, yeah."

"The eidolons used to look different, but did they stay on earth without being called?"

"Yeah, they did. Long, long time ago."

"And there are creatures that came from eidolons mating?"

Jack nodded.

"Amarant said Grand Dragons could be one of these, is that true?"

"Bahamut and Ramuh," Jack answered, "They're pure."

Freya frowned. "But would that not make the dragons eidolons?"

Jack pursed his lips. "No. It don't work like that. They get stuff, like the thunder, the power, bloody long natural lives. Not the godlike shit though."

And based upon all that, Amarant is half eidolon, Freya thought to herself. The unrivaled power of his trance made a lot of sense now. Amarant had put up with her miniscule, inconsequential problems in comparison for years now. Never once had he needed to question his own humanity when he had such greater reason to. Ashamed, she grabbed the next book, looking questioningly at Jack.

"Fables. Story of the burning man," Jack supplied helpfully.

Freya relaxed, replacing it on the table. "Oh, I know that one by heart. My mother used to tell me it every night."

Jack grinned, "Really? Then what's it about?"

"It's about a man who carried a bag on his back, full of all the evil and darkness in the world. Bad people would try to take it from him, because they wanted the bag for themselves, because they could rule the world with its power. When they tried to take it from him, he would disappear, and they would look in the bag. But no-one but the burning man knew what this evil looked like, so they could not find it. When they had gone away, the burning man would reappear in burst of flame, pick up the bag, and carry on his way," she recited, in the special way people do, when the thing that they are thinking about is so ingrained, that they fail to really think what they are saying.

She blinked, as her words finally registered. "Jack, is the burning man real?"

". . . Last chance to get out, love."

"Jack," she said, warning in her voice.

"We're probably gonna die, you know."

"JACK!"

Jack winced. "Alright, alright, yeah, he's real."

Freya smiled; suddenly things were making much more sense. "Phoenix had a child?"

Jack nodded.

"And what he guards is knowledge of something? The man in black armour?"

Jack grinned half-heartedly, patting a pile of books next to him. "Pretty quick, love. No need for all these now. Unless you don't know what's next?"

"Oh, I know what to do," Freya answered with steel in her voice, "We're going to Esto Gaza."

"You can tell me why later, love. First give us a hand with the books, yeah?"

Freya sighed, cradling some of the books as she followed Jack out of the bookcase and to the Librarian's desk. The old man frowned at them over the tops of his glasses. "That was fast," he accused.

"You haven't been drawing in them, have you?"

"'Course not, just turns out I got more of a scholar than I thought I had, mate," Jack answered.

"Hmph," the librarian snorted, looking over the books until he found Amarant's, "These are late. And they're not yours."

"Do you remember who had them?" Freya asked.

"Remember? Of course I do. He was a giant. It's quite worrying, someone like him reading books like these."

"Did he have red dreadlocks?"

"You mean the ropey things on his head? Yes, he did, quite a lot of them," the librarian answered, nodding his head minutely.

"What exactly did he ask for?" Jack interjected, before Freya could ask anymore. "And when?"

"Oh, it was about a week ago. He wanted to know about eidolons, and if gods can die. It was all very bizarre."

Jack frowned. "Nothing about chocobos, then?"

"Chocobos?" Freya asked, before she could contain it.

Jack ignored her.

"Why, there was! How strange you know that. Now, what was it . . . picochocs? Chocobaths? Ah! No, it was chocographs!"

Jack swore loudly. The librarian looked extremely offended, and would have pointed to the 'Quiet' sign on the desk, except one of the school children had stolen it. "We gotta go love, now." He said, a vice like grip closing on one of Freya's wrists and pulling her all the way out of the caverns.

"Jack!" she cries, massaging life back into her wrist as he began to look for the airship, "What the _hell_ are you doing?"

If he answered at that moment, Freya missed it. Her ears were currently occupied completely by the screech of a full grown Grand Dragon as it descended on them from the cliff tops. The tourists and children who had been standing outside screamed, running for the safety of the library. Instinctively, Freya was in the air with the Dragon's Hair in her hand before the beast even hit he ground.

Jack exclaimed another curse that was mercifully lost to the flapping of the beast's wings. Two of his swords were drawn, one entirely reminiscent of the Ultima that Zidane carried. A claw swiped at him, and he rolled, flipping himself over the ground and managing to close the gap between him and the beasts hide. He exploded up from the ground, the pair of blades grinding up the chest scales with a shower of sparks. Again, he swore.

"Freya!" he yelled, jumping again and kicking himself back of the dragon's head as it tried to snap at him. "It's an old one, go for the eyes!"

The pole arm was frozen in her hands. She could see the shot, angles and trajectories and wind resistance as glaring in her mind as a fog horn. She felt herself falling, her mind numb except for cold calculation and still it failed to leave.

"Freya!" Jack yelled again, snapping her concentration, allowing her to twist enough so that the wing tip only grazed her instead of puncturing a hole through her body. The force was still enough to send her flying, collapsing in a heap a few yards away from Jack.

"The hell, woman?" he continued, the ground sinking under his feet as he caught a gigantic claw with his swords.

"I . . . can't," Freya answered, her gaze flicking between the lance and the dragon. Jack screamed as lightening rolled through him. He kicked backwards, grabbing Freya with a free hand and jumping again. The tail swept across under them.

"If you give me some bullshit reasoning about it being Amarant's aunt I'll fucking skewer you!" Jack screamed, already having used Freya as an in-air springboard to launch himself at the dragon's head. It loosed its own cry in turn, as both eyes became bloody messes.

And, like that, Freya _knew _it was the reason she wasn't attacking. And she knew it was a bloody stupid one. All the anger and rage that she'd suppressed the last two weeks flooded back through her, lighting her up with radiant magic that shot the waterfalls with diamonds. The jump came to her, building first in the mind, then shooting down every muscle in her back and legs until it reached the very tips of her toes. The catch flipped off, and she was lifting, higher than any other Gaian of flesh and blood could manage. The Dragon Hair left her hands, crackling and spitting as it seemed to rip into ten, fifteen, twenty missiles.

Jack managed to flip free before they crashed through the Dragon, ripping its wings to shred and pinning it to the ground. The following roar shook the very ground. The four-armed bandit grinned. "Nice one, love."

Then it was his turn, sheathing both his swords and standing side on to the dragon with his eyes shut. A hand flashed, drawing the Excalibur II that so reminded Freya of Ultima, and he shot forward, too fast for the eye to see - until he stood on the other side of the dragon, an evil grin on his face as its skull separated into three pieces.

"You're not mortal either, are you?" Freya accused as her trance dissipated, wrinkling her nose at the reek of dragon blood.

"No love, I aint," Jack admitted as he lit a cigar. His other hands grabbed her, and they were back in the air, crashing into the side of the airship before the skeleton crew had a chance to use the teleport. "Bugger," Jack grunted, as he hauled them both over the side with the hand that wasn't occupied with Freya or smoking.

"Then what are you?" Freya asked, shivering slightly even though the air was warm.

Jack frowned at her, realizing that the gash was a little worse than it looked and causing slight shock. Well, part of the reason for shock. "Drink up," he said, throwing her a phial. "Tell you after,"

Freya nodded, taking the potion phial and drinking the contents in one. She passed out immediately.

Jack grunted, keeping one eye on her as he began to clean Excalibur II.

It was dark when Freya woke up, and very, very cold. There was already snow settling on top of the airship. Jack was staring over the side, smoking a cigar that smelled of sulphur. She wondered – in that place of mind that comes with just having awoken – if his cigar smells had anything to do with the weather.

"What are you?" she tried again

"None your business," he replied, shooting her an annoyed glance.

She nibbled her lip, trying to think of anything else to say. "Are we there yet?" she hazarded.

Jack laughed, and it was a pure laugh for once, with no sexual undertones or cruelty. "Yeah, actually. C'mon, love."

He stepped off the edge, and Freya saw that the monastery was directly below them. With a sigh, she pulled her hood tight around her ears and followed. She supposed entering by the roof would be less noticeable, but that sounded too much like Jack logic to sit comfortably with her.

"So this wasn't just a guess, right? You do know why you're here?" Jack asked as he jimmied open an access door on one of the lower roofs.

"I do," Freya answered, watching with interest as Jack continued to fail. "Are you Gil as well as Jack?"

Jack sighed, sheathing the short sword he had been using as an impromptu crowbar. "If I tell you, will you use that bloody great kebab thingy to get this bloody door open?"

She nodded.

"Then yeah, I'm Gil. How'd you guess?"

"Just the way you told the story," Freya answered with a smile, jamming the pointy bit of her lance under the door and launching it off the hinges.

"They never do make the hinges properly," she said smugly.

"Hmph," Jack answered, "Learning shit from you, that's a new one."

"Oh, shut up Jack."

"You got a plan then, love?"

"Pull hoods down until we find the right monk," she answered.

"That's a bloody stupid plan," Jack answered, "Just follow me, alright?"

The two walked down many a twisted staircase, passing complex halls devoted to every religion under the sun. Esto Gaza was not a church to the Loving Gods, but rather to every little thing that the people of the world found comfort in. The monks went out to every country, every city, and every town to listen to the people. And when they returned, they made a new shrine to whatever these people saw fit to place their faith in. It was the ultimate homage to a world of unparalleled diversity. Jack, or Gil, stopped at a door set with heavy iron florins. A pervasive smell of chemicals drifted through the cracks. He knocked.

"C'min," a voice grunted.

The first thing that caught Freya's attention was not the figure sat writing at the small desk, as she had expected, but the glass and metal apparatus coating the rooms walls that resembled so closely the chapel of St. Haagen at the south gate chapel. There was even a small mouse running round a treadmill, generating sparks of electricity that made something blue fizz. It all looked a bit illegal.

"Gil?" the man said curiously, standing to fix Jack with a raised eyebrow. "What you want?"

Jack grinned sheepishly as Freya appeared from behind him, becoming visible to the grey haired monk.

"Hello, Ipsen," Freya greeted.

Then she broke his nose.


	7. Chapter 6

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Chapter 6

"Fuck!" Ipsen cursed, his voice muffled by the hands that now smothered his face. He sat back down and tipped his head back, trying to halt the blood flow.

"Goddamned rat. The hell's your problem?" He muttered, one hand now blindly sifting through the vials in the top drawer of the desk.

"My name is Freya Crescent," she said, perching on the end of his hard bed without waiting for an invitation.

This failed to get a response. Freya frowned.

"Do you not know who I am?" she asked.

Ipsen grunted, and then cracked his nose back into place. Half the vial he had found went down his throat and the other over most his face. There was an excessive amount of swearing involved.

"Yeah, think so," he answered, having quite finished. "Some Burmecian nob, right?"

"She's one of the Mist War lot," Jack supplied, his tone somewhat subdued and careful. He was still standing in the open doorway.

"That lot Sal was with?" Ipsen asked, wiping blood off his face with a cloth. Any evidence of the attack was now completely gone.

Jack nodded.

"I am Salamander's girl-," she cut herself off, frowning. "His partner."

"Answer the question," the monk replied, ignoring her.

"I hit you because you are an unmitigated and unequivocal bastard!" Freya exclaimed at him. It felt strangely satisfying to shout at someone who was _not _Jack after the past few weeks.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he answered, looking guilty. Ipsen's time away from society seemed to have turned him into a terrible liar.

"I'll just leave you two alone, then," Jack muttered hopefully, trying to slip out the door.

"No you fucking don't, sunshine," Ipsen said, grabbing one of Jack's wrists in a huge hand and dragging him back into the room. He shut the door and locked it, hiding the key in his dreadlocks. "You brought this crazy bitch here. I want a bloody explanation."

Jack had been struggling to get out of the other mans grasp, but as soon as Ipsen asked for clarification he stopped. "You mean you don't know what's going on?"

"Course I fucking do. What's she got to do with it?"

"Think she's got pot-"

"SHUT UP!" Freya yelled, stamping her heel down on the floor. The shock waves from her magically enhanced muscles were enough to make the two immortals bounce slightly. She walked forward and pushed Ipsen back into his chair, jabbing him in the chest with a finger along side each word. "I. Want. Answers."

"And you've been travelling with her?" Ipsen asked, cocking an eyebrow at Jack.

"Shits and giggles all the way, mate," Jack replied, while opening the glass door in the room. It must have been the only monk's cell in the world with a balcony. A lit cigar appeared in his mouth as he stepped outside.

Freya kicked the door shut on him before he had a chance to start talking again. It was just like the first time she had met Jack. Her meticulous mental preparation had been thrown out of the window by this obnoxious flippant attitude the two seemed to share. She decided that she had a special kind of loathing for immortals.

"Why did you abandon him?" she asked, after she had composed herself, referring to Amarant. He was, after all, the one subject – bar Jack – the two held in common.

Ipsen sighed, ignoring the frantic hammering Jack was making on the glass. "It's not as simple as that."

"You left him. You never came back to him. Of course it's that simple," she retorted immediately.

"Hmph. You don't understand," he said.

"No, I completely fail to. You were his _father _and you left him," she spat the title with so much venom that it should have burnt something.

Ipsen slouched in his chair, his shoulders closing together almost protectively. But he did not break eye contact. "There's a lot of stuff about Sal you don't know, girl. I would've made things much worse than they are."

"Worse? How could they be worse? Amarant was working for _Kuja _when we first met him,"

"Better than him being his own man," Ipsen said darkly. "He'd have been much worse than Garland if he'd stayed in my world, that boy's darkness. Pure and simple."

Freya almost growled, forcing it back down. "I know what he is, Ipsen. You have no right to say that. He saved us all."

"Yeah? And what else did he do? Even I know what he gets called now."

The journal flashed in Freya's mind. "Exaggerations," she answered lamely, not even believing herself.

Reaching over, Ipsen flipped the latch on the balcony door, allowing a shivering Jack to tumble back into the room. He had a small snow drift on his head. "Sit down and shut up," Ipsen ordered as he pushed the door half shut, then turning a few dials above his desk that began to heat the room up.

Jack complied, and even in the middle of this conversation Freya failed to stop herself from wondering what is was that made Jack so pliant to Ipsen's commands. She silently cursed herself for getting distracted so easily.

"I apologise, Ipsen, but I don't believe you. A half eidolon baby lands in your lap, when you are exactly the same, and you say you were an unsuitable father?" Freya demanded.

She had turned her attention back to Ipsen as Jack found the liquor stash, filling the room with the stench of dead pepper.

Ipsen frowned. "Weren't lying when you said you knew, sunshine?"

Freya glanced at Jack again, this time as an explanation. Ipsen pursed his lips. "You and me need to have words later, Gil," he said.

Jack flipped off the monk with one of his hands and the monk snorted, turning back to Freya. "Then you know Sal's got grand dragon blood. You know where the grands come from?"

"From Bahamut and Ramuh?" Freya answered, the question remaining in her voice as she still barely trusted Jack.

Ipsen nodded, finally giving into the tobacco fumes drifting in the room and took out his own cigar from his vest pocket. He lit it with a large, clunky lighter. Freya had never seen anything like it.

"Yeah, that's right. At least Jack's been teaching you the right shit about your boyfriend," he answered her.

Freya shivered slightly at the word boyfriend. It sounded bizarre when used to talk about someone known as The Man With No Soul.

"So the grand dragons are pure eidolon. How is that any different to your mother being Phoenix?" Freya asked.

Ipsen coughed, pungent cigar smoke rolling towards Freya. Freya wrinkled her nose, trying to fan it away with her hand. Just because smoking would not kill these two was no excuse to make the rest of the world suffer.

"Doga an' fucking Une, Gil, why the hell did you tell her that?" Ipsen wheezed through a throat recovering from vaporous razor blades.

Jack muttered to himself, tucked into the corner of the room with his bottle. The phrases 'burning man' and 'pretty fuckin' blatant' could be made out.

Freya grimaced. Ipsen seemed to be as easily distracted as a child. She said his name, and he returned his attention to her.

"It's just . . . different. Not really sure how to explain," the monk answered, frowning slightly.

"I guess you could think of it like this," he said after a brief pause, "like, Phoenix is light and life. Part of the holy trinity with Alexander and Madeen. Total opposite to Bahamut and Ramuh. They don't do anything but destroy."

"That's nothing more than a case of nature versus nurture," Freya said, frowning herself in understanding of the argument that Ipsen was trying to present. "The way someone is raised can completely contravene the instincts of their species."

"This isn't about species and blood, love. Hell, look at it like that and you still got a difference. It's about magic; it's what eidolons are made of. What me and Sal are half made of. You can't use black to create and white to destroy."

"Holy is destructive magic," Freya replied stubbornly, "and Amarant has white magic,"

Ipsen rubbed his forehead in frustration. "No, he don't. Sal's got red magic. I bloody taught him it. And holy's a tiny exception to a huge rule."

"You still made a mistake. It was the streets that turned Amarant to crime."

"I've been looking after this fucking planet longer than your bloody country's existed, girl. Don't you dare question my judgement," Ipsen snapped back. "I spend my whole fucking life in the darkness. If your bloody boyfriend had stayed he'd've been lost completely."

A glimmer of realisation sparked in Freya's mind. "Loving Gods, the apology . . . You planned the entire thing in Treno. You were apologising for abandoning him before you even did it!"

"Never cut me in on it," Jack contributed grumpily, "That little bastard's teeth fuckin' hurt."

"Shut up, Gil," Ipsen shot at him. "If you'd been in Madain Sari instead of sorting your bloody I.D out . . ."

Jack stared at him. "Ippy, d'you even sodding remember what happened last time we picked a fight with the Invincible?"

Ipsen grunted. "Yeah, 'course. That was uncalled for."

"Damn right it was," Jack answered. It was hard to tell, but he actually looked offended.

Freya felt completely out of place. As little as they had learnt from Zidane about his confrontation with Garland, and the circumstances of Terra's invasion, it had been thousands of years since the Invincible previously appeared. It was hard not to feel in awe of the pair now, despite their abrasiveness. "What made you decide to abandon him?" She asked, although more muted than she previously had been.

"What? Oh, yeah, Sal," Ipsen said, wrenching his attention away from Jack.

"It wasn't long before that. We'd been training at the castle. You know, the one named after me," he said with a wry smile and glance at Jack. "Sal was pissing about in the ceiling over one of the halls, testing his agility and stuff. I told him not to go there, 'cos it's where the tonberries live. Didn't listen 'course. Kids never do."

"Remember you were a fuckin' nightmare for your mum, Ippy," Jack said, grinning.

"One of these days you're gonna say something I don't say shut up to," Ipsen retorted, "but it aint now. So shut it."

"Hmph," he snorted before continuing. "Anyway, he fell. Heard him screaming and I legged it fast as I could. By the time I got there, it wasn't pretty. I doubt you've ever seen Sal trance, but he can. All purple and swarming with electricity, spires coming out his shoulders. He'd killed two fully grown tonberries at the age of eight. Scared the shit out of me. There's no-one who can deal with that kind of thing."

"I saw Amarant trance," Freya answered, "so did Vivi, so did Zidane. We stayed with him."

Ipsen raised his eyebrow. Jack straightened up in his corner and took a lot more notice.

"After we beat Kuja, this other . . . thing appeared," Freya explained, feeling nervous that she was finally telling someone this. "It said it was called Necron . . ."

"We know what Necron is," Jack said.

That failed to surprise Freya. Nothing seemed to be surprising her anymore. "We though Amarant just dealt the finishing blow, but after everything the past few weeks . . . I think he did most of it with that trance."

Ipsen sighed, sliding down in his chair and crossing his arms. "You see what I mean? He's too powerful. Power like that aint meant to be in a living body."

Freya shook her head. "I think you are wrong. Amarant has changed a lot since the end of the war," she said, realising that most of this change had happened in Burmecia. Amarant was accepted, even almost liked there.

"I'm not wrong, girl. What he's doing now proves it. And the why," Ipsen said.

"You know _why_?" Jack asked, a little incredulous. "This is like, the most nonsensical suicide attempt ever."

Freya started at the word suicide. Ipsen waved a hand dismissively. "He's not really trying to kill himself, that's just what'll happen if he does what he wants."

It was strange. Freya knew that Jack had known what Amarant was up to the entire time, and Ipsen obviously had as well. But, now it was so close, there was a definite tinge of dread anticipation. What if it was still, somehow, to do with her? What if it was nothing to do with her and that made it hurt even more? It felt like a miniature lightning storm in her stomach as she asked, "What does he want?"

"Revenge," Ipsen answered, grinning darkly at her from beneath his grey dreadlocks.

His tone of voice caused Freya to pull her head back slightly. Jack burst out laughing.

"Doga, Ippy. Gonna be any more dramatic while your at it?"

" . . . Fuck off, Gil. Gotta get my kicks from somewhere."

Freya narrowed her eyes. "You're telling _jokes_? After everything I've done for the chance to see him one more time, you're telling _jokes_?"

Jack stopped snickering immediately. Ipsen withdrew the hand motion he had been making. Both of them looked like naughty children who'd been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. It was so absurd; Freya almost laughed herself – although it would have been born of exasperation and not amusement.

"Getting total flashback to your mum screaming at us, mate," Jack muttered.

Something inside Freya's mind snapped and she jumped up, grabbing the neck of Jack's vest with both hands and hoisting him up. She dragged him over to the door – unlocking the latch with a flick of her tail – and unceremoniously threw him out. Jack landed in a tangle of arms and passing monk.

"The fu-" he trailed off, actually cut off mid sentence by the glare of Freya's face.

"You are going to be quiet," she said, in that horrible, horrible woman-voice that tortures sticky children. "And you are going to sit there, in case I need to ask you any more questions."

Jack made as if to speak again, but Freya cut him off. "So help me Une, Jack. If those words fail to be 'Yes sir', I am not going to be responsible for my actions."

"Yes sir," Jack muttered, adopting the slouch of a sulking child.

Freya almost started laughing at the absurdity, but she kept it going, slamming the door shut on the petulant immortal and locking it. Ipsen was looking at her very strangely.

"Guessing you don't know about Jack, that or you're just stupid," he told her.

"What?" Freya asked. She had been concentrating on tying her scuffed hair back into a tight bun. She shook her head before Ipsen had a chance to reply, causing her hair to fall down her back. She sat down before trying again, talking as she did. "No, actually, I don't care. What I care about is Amarant and straight answers."

"How about ones that're a bit bendy?" Ipsen asked hopefully.

Freya fixed him with a look. Ipsen shuddered. "Too like my mum," he muttered to himself.

"Amarant's after me," Ipsen supplied, before Freya could prompt him again.

"To kill you?"

"No. Amarant can kill magic stuff, but only with conditions. I got too much belief to be killable."

Freya frowned. "Religion saves you from dying?"

Ipsen laughed at that. "I mean too many people believe in _me._ You seen eidolons get beat, right?"

Freya nodded.

"But you can summon them again. That's because people believe in the magic enough. They just go away for a bit. It's the same kind of thing. I got my own stories, but I got Phoenix's magic too."

"So why is he after you?"

Ipsen chewed his lip. "You know the burning man story, right?"

Freya nodded.

"Well, Amarant's trying to make it so the secret don't need to be guarded anymore. He wants to remove the burning man by destroying the secret."

"The man in black armour?" Freya asked.

Ipsen did no more than raise an eyebrow this time. "Looks like you done this right, at least."

"I didn't want to do this at all," Freya told him. She put her head in her hands, suddenly feeling very worn out. "It was all going to be so simple. I was going to find him in the bar in Treno and tell him I love him. Then we could just go home."

Ipsen grunted, but failed to volunteer anything further.

"I don't care about dark secrets, I don't care about immortals. I already had enough of that to last for eternity. All I want is to bloody well wake up shivering in the mornings because Amarant made the covers into a nest again!"

"If you want to do that, you're gonna have to put up with it a bit longer, sunshine," Ipsen said, responding with tenderness where Jack would have met her with awkward silence.

"We're gonna need your help," Ipsen explained as she stared at him quizzically, "That black knight . . . well, it's not exactly the nicest thing in the world."

"What is it?" Freya asked.

"An eidolon, sort of."

"What do you mean by 'sort of'?"

"Hrm. I told you earlier there's opposites, right?"

Freya nodded.

"Back in the old days, and I mean a fucking long time ago here. This is before Terra even showed up in the sky. But back then, right, there was a king - queen too, called Asura, but that's not important. King of the eidolons, I mean. It was the king through strength, none of the others could compare to it. Not even Alexander. But all of them, us I guess, were built basically on morals and a kind of light."

"What about Ark? Or Hades?"

"I'll get to that. This King wasn't like that. He was so strong 'cause he was the counterweight in the universe. Things like to be balanced, so the King got made out of the darkness. Wasn't evil, pretty good King actually. 'Til Garland possessed it with the Invincible and drove it insane. Lot of eidolons died forever back then.

"Funny you should mention those two; they're probably what helped us seal it. They got made into eidolons. Ark more got built from bits and pieces. Hades was an alchemist. There had to be dark stuff to fight back."

"Why do you keep referring to this King as 'it'?"

"Habit. That, and I don't like tempting fate. This one'd hear its name wherever."

Freya had been frowning, lips moving slightly as she though it through. "So this King was sealed . . . and you keep its name so no-one can summon it? No . . . A summoner would just be able to use the gemstone."

She looked slightly embarrassed under Ipsen's inquisitive stare. "Dagger could not hear their names at first. She still called them forwards. Vivi was constantly terrified of her summoning something that would eat us," she remembered with a sudden smile. "He nearly fainted when he saw Atamos for the first time."

Ipsen snorted. "Atamos used to be a pretty young thing. 'Til Garland and the King fucked everything up."

"You guard its name andwhere it's sealed," Freya said, remembering the seal that had been placed upon Leviathan at the Iifa tree. "Does Amarant know both of those?"

"I dunno," Ipsen said frowning, "He knows the name, made me write it down for him when he was abut five. He knows a bit about the shrine, but not enough to find it."

A hesitant tapping sound came from the door. Ipsen got up to open it, revealing Jack who had been eavesdropping quite thoroughly. "He knows about the chocographs," Jack said, ducking under Ipsen's arm into the room.

Ipsen cursed. "Know as in suspects, or knows as in knows?"

Jack shrugged. "He was asking for the records of them in the library."

"What are chocographs?" Freya asked.

Jack stared at her. "Er, your chocobos fully grown. You should know that, love."

"Zidane always took care of Choco. It was how he brought his stress levels down."

Ipsen sat back down in his chair. Jack leaned on the doorframe. "Hm, right. Well, chocographs are these treasure maps, right? 'Cept only chocobos know how to read them. Ippy made them," Jack said, nodding at the old monk. "Seeing as he talks squalk and all that. We go round every coupla years and fill the chest up with rubbish again. Kinda reward for people who get to know their birds a bit, 'steada treating them like animals."

"One of them has the King's shrine carved on the back," Ipsen said. "Clues, anyway."

"Why keep the location a secret and write it down somewhere?" Freya asked, incredulously.

"'Case something happened," Ipsen answered. "'Case Gil or one of the others needed to take over from me."

The 'others' comment lodged in the back of Freya's mind. She shook her head to dislodge it.

"So if Amarant kills this King, how is that revenge?"

Ipsen sighed, chair creaking as he leaned forwards again. He did look very old at that moment. "It's an insult, among other things. Between me and him. And I'm a caretaker. He'll be taking away my job."

"An insult?" Freya asked stubbornly.

"Dunno if you'll really understand it. He's paying off his debt for me raising him, but he don't owe me shit."

"I don't understand that," Freya admitted, feeling a little disappointed. That was it, laid out in front of her. The whole story. She had been so self-obsessed when she left Burmeica, almost hating herself with the belief it was all about her. But even that was preferable to this strange explanation that started from stagnant old memories.

"Can he win that fight?" Freya asked.

Ipsen shook his head. "Not on his own."

Freya nodded, standing up and brushing imaginary crumbs off her surcoat. "Then I would like you to take me to him."

Ipsen stared at Jack. "You'll need a chocobos that can fly," he said.

"Her ship's just as good," Jack answered, "It's got clean Terran tech on it."

Ipsen raised an eyebrow, then nodded. "Alright," he said.

He opened the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a small box. Inside were a set of duel claws, humming with a magic Freya recognised, but failed at remembering the name of. "Are you fighting?" she asked, surprised.

Ipsen nodded, Jack grinned at her. "Could be a laugh," Jack said, although his voice was strained.

"You need a real eidolon, if we can't stop it starting," Ipsen grunted, slinging a bag over his back with a cacophony of clinking. There must have been enough restorative potions and ethers in there for an army. "You'll need this, too."

The monk tossed a small box to her. Inside it was a ribbon that even she could feel the protective magic woven into. Dumbfounded, she tied it around her wrist and followed the two out.

It was only once they were back on the airship she remembered Ipsen was only half eidolon.


	8. Chapter 7

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Chapter 7

"And no Cloud nor Squall shall hinder us!"

So many mirrors to the Royal couple, in such a tragic play. Cornelia; the young princess trapped by her heritage, and Marcus; a nobody with the misfortune to fall in love above his station. A simple line that proved to be so utterly, utterly false for Zidane and Princess Garnet.

Zidane was gone for a long time. By the time he reappeared with such flair and drama, a full year had passed since he first met the Princess. The a_rrogance_ involved with presenting oneself as a birthday present . . . Only Zidane could get away with that.

But time keeps ticking and the world keeps spinning. He'd been gone for almost nine months; nine months of absolute hell for Alexandria as it tried to recover from being the nation that declared war on the world. Linblum, Cleyra, Burmecia. All countries whose rulers were wise and benevolent (or in the case of Puck, trusting) enough to understand the true happenings of Garland's invasion. Their people however, were not. It took months for trade routes to be re-established with Lindblum and the cataclysm at Cleyra had been so great, it split Burmecia in half. A mass exodus occurred, with many leaving their recovering capital city to start again in the crater of Odin's lance.

Everyone was in debt. War reparations sapped Alexandria while everyone else was left to deal with the remaining repair costs. Money and resources were flying everywhere in amounts that nobody could afford to spare. But one city had been spared the ravages, 'kindly' stepping in to offer their support. Everyone knew the Treno elite were taking advantage of the power vacuum, everyone knew this help would come at an even higher cost, but . . . the streets of Alexandria and Treno were carpeted with the destitute and destroyed. For Alexandria, no, for Queen Garnet Til Alexandros 17th , there was no choice involved in baring the skin of her neck.

And so a proposition had been made by the Nobles of Treno – one led by the King family. The fact that their house had financially backed Kuja in his warmongering had never come to light but had left them with a taste of power they would not let go so easily. The offer was this: In exchange for their help and money, the Queen would take the hand in marriage of one of their family; a young man named Frederick King. He would be instated as the Prince Regent but hold as much sway in courtly matters as the Queen herself. This was six months after the end of the Mist.

Dagger deliberated as long as she could, looking for some other way and taking council both from Linblum and Doctor Tot in his position of a scholar in Treno. He proved most useful as a spy, but no knowledge he gleamed gave any other options. The Nobles were, for once, united. After two months, she gave her reply, committing herself to the marriage as a short term solution to the continent's great ills. After all, she mused, somewhat morbidly and mostly jokingly, she could always contract Amarant to kill him later on. The wedding was arranged for the day of her 17th birthday, barely a month from her accepting the proposition.

The story of that day is well told; the fairy tale reuniting of two lovers who seemed doomed to never be. It had drama, it had flair, and it had class. It was also immediately made into three different plays, two novels, and a rather bizarre musical that never made it past one performance at Ruby's street theatre. It would still be some time before that delightful little underground nook passed hands to Blank, but dwelling on such matters of tragedy is not for this tale.

The seven minute war, they call it; although in reality it occurred over a period of some weeks. Treno, outraged at this sudden development on the day of the wedding declared war on Alexandria for not honouring the agreement even though they had yet to begin upholding their own end. Treno's standing army is somewhat small, but they boosted these numbers by hiring every mercenary and cutthroat they could flash their money in front of. Some - those who believed or had knowledge, declined - as the rumour was abroad that the Flaming Amarant disapproved in a somewhat violent fashion of his own invitation. But the rest heeded the call, and oh, what an impressive and fearful sight it was that morning in Alexandria; to look over the ruined walls of the citadel and see the scum of the continent assembled on the plains.

Alexandria's own army was still much depleted and rather than send them directly into combat, General Beatrix had decided to first play a small scheme that might remove the necessity of bloodshed. And so their old friends – those few that were not in Alexandria already – had been called. Amarant, or course, was unreachable. But the rest answered and on that day, strode from the main gates to meet the army only seven strong.

Queen Garnet Til Alexandros 17th, Informal Consort Zidane Tribal, Princess Eiko Carol-Fabool, Captain Adelbert Steiner, General Beatrix Steiner, Head Chef Quina Quan, Sir Freya Crescent, and the fierce god Bahamut walking amidst them.

Some dropped their weapons in amazement before the Queen even began to speak from her perch on Bahamut's head. "Together we fought our way across the entire world, and faced foes far more great and deadly than the undisciplined fools who dare to stand before my city today," she cried.

"And we cast every one of them down with barely a break in our stride. Do you dare to fight us? After we killed the angel of death? After we saved this world and everything in it? Do you really dare?"

A rumble was erupting within the opposing army. They were growing uneasy, and the Dragon Lord staring at them with hunger in his eyes helped none. It was now the turn of Zidane.

An animal snarl was on his features as he strode forward, and his tail crackled with electricity as a trance threw itself around him. Flashing Ultima around, he brandished above his head. "I fought my way through hell to return here!" he roared, brandishing his thief sword above him, "I will not lose everything again to you! Face us! You will see the strength we found in Memoria!"

Some mercenaries on the front line did little but sneer, and dashed forward with their own weapons. Zidane moved so fast the only thing that marked the path of the vorpal blade was the thin line of red that carved through the sweetness of the morning air. The men screamed and writhed on the ground in agony, while they stared at the stumps of their lost limbs in horror.

"The next one dies," Zidane warned, more a warrior in this moment than ever before.

Bahamut screeched behind him, and his companions drew their weapons.

This was all it took. Two short speeches and a few severed limbs before an army capable of crushing Alexandria in one foul push surrendered to seven people, and one voracious looking god. It was another tale that served to further the awe of these great saviours, and left Treno beaten, skulking back into the eternal night with its tail between its legs. Money was still a problem, but the spirits of the people were heartened, and the coming wedding of Garnet and Zidane went much further in lifting them. They were difficult times, and still are, but for the moment they are free of political games that distract from what real good can be wrought.

--

"You're an eidolon!" Freya exclaimed at Jack as soon as it clicked in her mind.

Jack froze mid-step, turning to fix her with a guilty grin. "Um. Yeah. Kinda."

Ipsen laughed. "You tell her all about me but you leave that out? Bastard."

"He's an eidolon?" Freya repeated, with the tint of a question this time as she pointed at him. "A fully fledged god?"

"Oh, he's a bit more than that sunshine," Ipsen said with malicious joy as he pushed the ship's pilot out of the way and assumed control himself.

Jack looked honestly miserable. "C'mon mate, don't tell her, there's no need."

"Tell me what?" Freya asked. "Doga, I think I deserve to know after everything I've suffered through because of him. Especially if it upsets him this much."

"Gil's a pretty little princess," Ipsen answered through a monstrous grin.

"Don't fucking call me that!" Jack snarled, fists clenched and quivering as if he want nothing more than to break Ipsen's jaw..

Freya laughed, not understanding what Ipsen meant but amused by Jack's discomfort and heartened by the possibility of a show.

"Y'see," Ipsen continued without prompting, "I got born on Gaia, the grands got born on Gaia, so all the people like us got flesh and blood. Limited and all that. But Jack, he's special."

"Bastard," Jack muttered. "It's none of her business."

"My blood aint her fucking business either so shut it," Ipsen spat back. "Princess here was the first child. He got born in Aphar; where the eidolons come from. So he's pure."

"But . . . princess?" Freya asked, having to pause so that the word came out as something other than a snicker.

Ipsen grinned. "His mummy and daddy were the King and Queen."

"Who we're on our way to get the shit kicked out of us by," Jack added darkly. "D'you think about that before you started cracking jokes, Ipshit?"

And just like that, the slight relief was dead. The smiles faded and Freya felt a horrible sense of guilt growing in her stomach. "Oh gods, Jack. I'm sorry. I didn't think."

Ipsen grunted. "We've got a chance, Gil. This has started already; better to try and put the old man out of his misery than watch him destroy everything. Not as if I like the way things happened."

Jack made as if to say something, but relented from what was obviously too much for him to share. "Summon me, now," he demanded instead.

"You sure?" Ipsen asked.

Jack nodded, standing up. "Yeah. Need to get used to it again. Fancy flying for a bit anyway."

Ipsen nodded, reaching inside his shirt and pulling out a stone attached to a thin mithril chain.

"Is that the castle?" Freya asked in surprise.

"Yeah, you go there too?"

Freya nodded. "I figured out it was a summon stone, but I thought it was for the King."

Ipsen laughed. "Nah, this one's Gil's. Made it into a castle fucking ages ago. Back when real magic was still around."

"I don't like being summoned," Jack interjected simply from his place at the rail. He had his back to them. "Get on with it."

Ipsen sighed, relinquishing the wheel to the real pilot temporarily. A quick tug on the stone broke the chain, and he held it in front of him in his palms. The stone began to float as he moved his hands away, reaching his arms out in a V shape. "Gilgamesh!" he shouted, clapping his hands together on the stone at the same time as tendrils of light and dark tried to escape into the world.

As if from nowhere red cloth exploded around Jack; swathing itself around him like a desert cloak and tucking itself under the sheaths of his four swords.

Freya took a step back, finally feeling the extent of the trouble she was in. She had watched Cleyra burn, Lindblum torn and Alexandria crumble by the might of these gods and now here was one stood in front of her. A being with the power to move the earth, and she knew that even he was scared of where they were going.

"Jack?" she whispered, seeing him at last for what he really was, and seeing why he and Ipsen had become the men they were. Tentatively she reached out a hand, gently touching his shoulder. "I . . . I'm sorry,"

His head snapped around, now completely covered with red cloth and a white mask segmented by streaks of crimson. "Don't you dare pity me, Crescent. Start thinking about the fight. It'll take everything we've got."

And just like that, he launched himself over the rails, tumbling and twisting away from the airship until he levelled out and was nothing more than a streak of battered red moving some fifty meters away from the Fenreal.

"Ipsen?" Freya said, still staring at the eidolon.

"What?" the monk replied from his reclaimed position at the wheel.

"Jack told me all eidolons have forces that they come from. What is he?"

"Aint a story for now, sunshine. Nothin' but distractions there," Ipsen answered gravely.

Freya shivered a little at the implication.

Ipsen sighed. "If we make it through, ask him nice. He might tell you. Doubt it but it aint my story to tell."

"You really think we will have to fight, then?" Freya asked, still fixated on Jack as he twirled around a small cloud.

Ipsen nodded. "Don't want to. Really don't want to. But it's got to happen, been building for a long, long time. Minute I knew what Sal was, I knew we'd come here some time. Just thought it'd be a few hundred years later, after he's beat his own darkness."

"He'll live that long?" Freya asked, astonished as she flicked her gaze back to the monk.

"He's like us," Ipsen said simply, "Don't even know what can kill him. So yeah, probably."

The thought of Amarant living long after she had passed away had not occurred to Freya in the time she had held such knowledge of what he was. She felt a small cold growing in her stomach at this one revelation to many. Freya stayed silent after that. When Ipsen glanced at her, he saw her trembling like a leaf and tears rolling through her fur. He swore, and once again left the helm. Rustling through his bag, he found a phial and walked over to her to offer it.

"Dammit girl, I'm sorry. Take this. I need you workin' properly," he said softly.

"My whole world is breaking," Freya said, not making any move to take it.

"It's not broken, it's all still there waiting for you. I'm truly fucking sorry you had to step into our world, but Sal's a part of it and that's the price you pay for loving him. Me and Gil, we keep you lot safe. It's our fuckin' job to make sure there's nothing lookin' back at you from the darkness. But you lot beat us to it last time. Soon as we get back on the ground, you can forget all about us two if you want. And we'll make sure you don't ever have to get involved in our crap again."

Freya laughed once, from the inability to really do anything else.

Ipsen smiled. "Look, just drink this, love. It aint no miracle cure but it'll save all this 'til you got time to deal with it."

Freya conceded, downing the flask as Ipsen moved back to the helm. She felt the needle points of trance pricking in her stomach as Gilgamesh, no, Jack landed on the deck.

"Shadow's about 2 klicks that way," Jack said, brandishing Excalibur II to the left of the prow as he stared curiously at Freya. The light had just begun exploding off her. "How long's she got?" he asked curiously.

"An hour or two, depends," Ipsen said while spinning the wheel. Even at this point, Freya could not help but marvel at how easily the two dropped the previous weight of their conversations.

"Might be more with this one," Ipsen continued, smiling wanly. "I think you're right, something special about her. She tranced pretty easy."

"She's got impressive ability too," Jack added, "Saw her split her lance into about twenty copies outside Daguerreo."

Ipsen was right though; the weight that had finally started to crush her with those final few boulders had lifted for the moment. She felt detached and single minded, not even caring about the ambiguous way they were talking about her. All that mattered now was Salamander and that she was going to fight tooth and claw for him.

"Can we call for help?" she asked, "Summon more eidolons to aid us?"

Ipsen grunted as he spun the ship's wheel. "No. They won't come, not for us. We lost that privilege when we stayed on Gaia."

"But why? They're your family."

"King's a controversial subject," Ipsen said, and Freya could swear it was the first time he'd said a word with more than three syllables in it. "That and we gave it up. For you lot. Told you that. We took up the role of jailers girl, and it cost us. Not many that likes that kind."

Freya felt a little surge of shock that managed to make its way through her adrenaline overload. "Is there others held prisoner; more threats than the King?"

Ipsen snorted, relinquishing the wheel to Jack and fumbling in his bag. "Yeah, more's the fuckin' pity. Time's been pretty-"

"Ipsen, shut it," Jack said, "you got about 30 seconds 'til we hit the shadow."

The monk grunted, pulling out a bottle clearly labelled 'Dead Pepper Schnapps'.

"Is this really the time?" Freya demanded incredulously.

"None better," Ipsen replied with a grin, before taking a large swig and letting loose a perfect chocobo cry as they crossed the border of the shadow. She realised she could still see the sun as a heavy cold settled on her, before things began to get strange.

There was one other time she could compare it to; the travel between Gaia and Terra. It felt not quite like using teleportation pods, where everything became jumbled into one and your mind began to mix with everything it passed or touched. Long distance journeys taken through that could send someone insane. She felt whole and moving at a great speed, like in the interplanetary trip, but she also felt like she was going nowhere at all.

She vaguely heard Jack swearing as a chocobo mounted by a man in green with flaming red hair streamed alongside them.

"AMARANT!" she screamed, throwing herself at the railing as the ship exploded through a cloud bank and stopped.

She gave no thought to the fact that the ship was parked on cloud as she vaulted over the edge, running over to where the chocobo had landed. She stopped short as Amarant stared at her, frozen in shock from his perch.

"The hell're you doing here, rat?" he asked softly, his gaze flicking from her to the two immortals standing behind her as if expecting them to answer. He slipped down, scratching Choco's beak affectionately as he did. He made no move towards them.

"I-" was all she managed before Amarant cut her off.

"You fucking brought her here? The fuck is wrong with you, Ipsen?" he demanded, his face twisted in rage.

Freya felt small, a feeling that was becoming very familiar, as she realised how inappropriate and insignificant she was at this moment.

_Love's never insignificant _a small voice whispered in her mind.

"You led her into the fucking secrets with your goddamn story!" Gilgamesh exclaimed with just as much venom. "We didn't have a choice!"

"You could've told her to fuck off!" came the reply. "Nothing in that story leads here!"

"Shut it. Both of you," Ipsen growled.

Amarant tightened and fell silent immediately, the way any child would when admonished by their father in that tone; no matter the relationship. Jack grunted, folding his arms and turning away.

"Why did you come here, Salamander?" Ipsen asked softly. "Whatever happened with us, there's better ways to solve that."

Amarant laughed, mirthlessly. "You think this is about you? About us? No, this is mine."

"What?" Jack said, shooting his glance back. "What possible reason you got for needing this?"

"I hear him too," Amarant hissed. "I hear that goddamn murmur in the back of my skull every single fucking day stirring up all my own dark and I want out."

His eyes flicked to Freya so briefly it could have been imagined. "I want a real life, I told you I'd have no part of this goddamn servitude during the war."

Ipsen snorted. "Your logic's gotta be fucking twisty here Sal, 'cause I got no idea. Can't blame your own dark on the King. We all tried that and it aint true."

"I know what I am," Amarant answered, "I know what I was born for and I understand it a fuck load more than you. I was made to kill the King and I _have_ to end that fate to start my own life."

"No such thing as fate," Jack grumbled, his gaze fixed back on a small stone shrine some twenty meters away.

Amarant grinned maliciously, the tone of his voice deliciously threatening, "That's a bit fucking rich coming from you,-"

"Don't!" Jack screamed, striding over to him and lifting the Man With No Soul up with two arms. "Don't you fucking DARE say that name in front of her!" he continued, as a third hand pointed threateningly at his face.

The silken murmur of steel interrupted the silence that flowed in and the glint of the Kaiser Knuckle betrayed its positing pressed against Jack's chest.

"Put me down or we'll see how bad I can fuck you," Amarant hissed.

"That's enough!" Freya screamed, and the trickle of magic glowing off her suddenly flared. Jack lowered Amarant back to the ground.

"I am sick of having to, having to fucking mother you two!" She screamed at Ipsen and Jack. "Are you completely incapable of remaining focused enough for five minutes to do what you came here too? You're both like sociopathic children!"

"And you!" she continued, rounding on Amarant who was staring at her in curiosity and something slightly resembling amusement, "Why did you leave me behind? I want this too!"

Amarant grunted, turning around and walking towards the shrine slowly with Ipsen and Jack following him. "Didn't want you to get sucked into all this, rat," he replied.

"Let's just do this, yeah? We can all bitch and moan and hate each other after," Jack said, his fingers tracing the engraving of a mighty armoured man that was etched in the stone the group had approached. "Just gimme a minute to pay my respects, alright?"

There was an intense look of sorrow of Ipsen's face as he watched his . . . friend? No. Brother, maybe. It seemed to be the closest word Freya could find for what they were to each other. "Nothin' but blue skies, baby," Ipsen said softly.

He seemed to notice Freya staring at him for the expression. "Atamos used to say that to me, back in the old days. Talkin' about our future." he explained in a voice laced with regret and incredible age. "Garland fucked it all up. I'm glad it weren't us who got hold of him."

He looked away in a manner reminiscent of hiding budding tears, untying his bag. "Here," he said, handing it to Freya. "I want you on support, sunshine. Stay above the fight much as you can; bottles are all standard so you'll know what you're grabbing."

"You do it, Ippy," Jack said in a sigh, breaking a minute's silence the others had indulged in after Ipsen had spoke. "Just thinking his name makes me feel sick."

Ipsen shook his head. "Let Sal. Not as bad for him."

The Flaming Amarant grunted, checking the straps on the Kaiser Knuckle. The others checked their weaponry too; Jack unsheathing his swords, Ipsen mimicking Amarant and Freya untying her lance after she had strapped the potion bag in place.

"Everyone ready?" Ipsen asked, stretching his arms loosely across his chest. There was no more reply than nods.

"Do it."

The air fell heavier around them even as Amarant stepped onto the plaque sat comfortably in cloud. The sun and wind began to die, leaving no more than a chill of dread expectation. He took a deep breath, before screaming the King's name.

"OZMA!"

A crackling ball of black and pungent colour began to crackle through holes in the air in front of them. Gradually, it began to realise some semblance of form as the memories of the immortals gave it back its shape, gripping and plating into a tall figure clothed in dark and twisted metal shot through with runes of sickly throbbing colour. It reached behind its back, the vaguest sound of a laugh building in slow crescendo from behind the helm. Both hands came back with a pair of swords that seemed almost its own height.

"GO!" Ipsen screamed as his own gold trance threw up, chasing away some of the encroaching shadow. Jack went forward with a flash of steel underneath the aged monk who was sailing into the air in a mad leap. Three glints passed them from Amarant's hand, but Ozma expended no effort in deflecting them with the giant swords that moved as swift as daggers in his hands. Jack hit him before Ipsen, four swords meeting two in a screech of blue sparks and cacophonic sound that rang out with every lightning hit.

Jack jumped back just in time, leaving an opening that Ipsen's descending dual claws found with a slash of non elemental magic. A small crack appeared, and Ozma _roared_. His knee jerked up, punting the too-slow monk into the air and his sword slashed inwards like scissors. Amarant was up at the front, horizontal in the air as a steel capped boot kicked upwards and his arm curved round, deflecting the attack as he back flipped. Ipsen rolled out of the way and Jack moved back in, taking the attention away from Amarant as the sword play clashed again with enough strength to shake mountains.

"Fuckin' 'ave it!" Jack roared in abject terror as he head-butted his father in the face through a gap in the twisting metal.

"Freya!" Ipsen yelled, his hand holding a gash that had only been stopped from being fatal.

Grasping in the bag, she found the familiar triple groove of distilled potion and threw it. Ipsen grabbed it, wiping the wound and downing the rest with a practiced ease.

"Double throw, Gil!" he yelled at the eidolon, who quickly booted his father in the chest, making him stagger slightly. Taking the split second, Jack flashed back, swords sheathed, hands grabbing the waiting Amarant and Ipsen and spinning round. Amarant flew first, carving through the weakened plating as he passed over Ozma's shoulder and severing the King's arm. Ipsen was already following as this happened, but Freya could only watch in horror as the King's other arm flowed round, carving through the old man's chest and searing him in two. The no mercy charging in his hand went out in a puff of darkness.

Amarant screamed, jumping on the gods back and beating his head with both hands. Small cracks formed in the helm before Amarant was thrown off and speared to the ground with the remaining sword.

"AMARANT!" Freya screamed, her trance flaring brighter as she ran forwards with the dragon's hair ready.

"NO! BACK!" he yelled, as desperately his hands tried to grip the sword to pull it out. Thick blood ran down from where he was holding it.

"Get in the air!" Jack shouted, trying to push his father away from the severed arm that held his other sword as Ozma skilfully deflected the four swords with just the plating of his gauntlet. The vorpal blade of Excalibur II he avoided.

Freya understood what he wanted, legs tensing and throwing her upwards as she focused on splitting her lance into as many as possible. "Move!" she yelled back at Jack.

"No!" he replied desperately, losing ground and almost falling as Ozma cast flare at point blank range.

"Damn you!" Freya swore, letting loose twenty three lances of golden light that smashed through the elemental darkness of Ozma's armour even as Jack tried to dive out of the way. Some caught him in the legs, but he made no sound, gasping as he was pinned in an unnatural position. But Ozma let loose a tearing cry that vibrated painfully throughout Freya's body. The unnatural laugh became audible again, rising even before the screams had stopped. The shadows deepened, and Freya looked up with dread to see a meteor spell racing to meet her in her fall.

A snap of steel rang out and Amarant rose, throwing the broken blade away as he clumsily jumped upwards. His fist cleaved upwards in an uppercut, blasting through the magic as his own finally began to spark with veins of purple. He hit the ground badly, but his arm was around Freya and the roll he tucked into spared her from her own painful landing. Immediately he was up again, running at Ozma with a primal scream. The King let loose spell after spell, but Amarant batted them away with all the impossible properties of impossibly mastered mag ellum nul. Freya jumped back in the air, getting ready to unleash a second attack should it be needed.

The Kaiser Knuckle cracked forward, burying itself deep into Ozma's helm. A hissing darkness oozed out around the blade.

"_Merrrrcy,"_ a discordant voice raked.

Amarant laughed, his feet planted against Ozma's chest and free hand holding the back of the King's head. Magic pulsed under his skin, picking out his veins and arteries in a clash of colour. "No mercy!" he barked, teeth bared as the magic streamed out of him.

The spell exploded with Amarant's claw firmly carved into the eidolons face. The shockwave rippled outwards, smashing through the golden lances and tossing Amarant, Jack, and the pieces of Ipsen's body over the edge of the clouds.

"NO!" Freya screamed as she landed, not bothering to watch the headless King collapse into glass and motes of magic behind her as she ran to where he had fell. Her calves and thighs tensed, strengthening harder than cobwebs, throwing her through the now-unstable cloud faster than she had ever moved before.

Her vision was full of blurred blue, focused on the green and red dot of the Flaming Amarant that grew in size painfully slowly. Finally, after lifetimes and empires her fingertips brushed his shirt and she grabbed it tight enough that one of her claws broke. She pulled herself to him and buried her snout in his neck, savouring the musty smell of alcohol and sweat and smoke and something a lot like dragon.

He stirred and stared at her, confusion framed in dreadlocks. "We're gonna die," he said and Freya knew he was asking what the fuck she thought she was doing.

"I don't care, I found you again," she answered, kissing him desperately.

"I love you."

Was it . . . fear on his face as she said that? But it only stayed for less than a moment, disappearing as his muscles began to vibrate, shocking through with colour change. Freya gasped, feeling unfamiliar heat pour from his body as the two of them were encased in a purple lightning storm. Spines erupted from his back and shoulders, sprouting further than they ever had before into long bones suddenly spanned with leathered skin that caught in the slipstream. The air ripped around them, vibrating with a sound she felt in the pits of their stomachs as they tumbled towards the Endless Ocean. They pulled up, skimming across the top of the water as his wing tips tore a wake through the calm waters. It was only then she noticed his arms; wrapped around her in a crush that hurt so beautifully.

Amarant laughed with peals of pure joy as they flew towards the distant shores of the Mist continent.

--

_Deep in the dark, dank caves under the world, the snapping of chains echoed._

--

Ahahahah I LIVE FUCKERS. Ah, I mean, sorry about the wait. Uni work, WoW, motivation issues, self destructive relationships; take your pick. It's been a busy year. YES THIS IS THE END but that doesn't mean there's not an epilogue and, god help me, more stories spanning out of this one. Later punks.


	9. Epilogue

Nothin' but blue skies, baby

Epilogue

"Doga . . ." the guard muttered as he lowered the telescope from his eye.

"What is it?" asked his Captain.

"Some kind of dragon," the guard replied as he passed over the telescope, "riding the front of the storm. It's amazing."

The Captain of the Watch grunted in distaste as he sighted the creature, conveying his own opinion on dragons. A pair of gigantic green and purple wings came into view, stemming from a body that seemed absurdly small in comparison and splashed with red. His brow creased slightly and he lowered the brass tube, glancing briefly behind him. "Man the cannons. It's heading straight for the castle. That thing's got a purpose in mind. Alert the docks too; it's big enough to take down a freight ship."

The guard nodded and turned away, but stopped after he had taken a couple of paces. "But . . . Sir, am I imagining things, or does it look like it's carrying something?

--

Amarant's teeth were ground together hard enough to shatter as he mustered every ounce of energy he could to keep himself moving forwards towards Linblum castle. A magical storm was chasing them, brewed from the crumbling forces that had held the sky garden in the air for so long. The raw lightning crackling along his wings was no help to this; energising the air and adding to the chaos behind. Freya was limp in his arms and barely breathing. The potion Ipsen had given her had taken far too large a toll on her body, being one only meant to be consumed by those whom death held no sway over. To a mortal, the cost was dire, burning out every source of power their body had to offer. Energy, fat, magic, adrenaline . . . Nigh all of this had drained from Freya and the only thing Amarant could think of was to get her to the closest white mage he knew. Two hard months of experience had given him the kind of trust in Eiko Carol's abilities that he rarely afforded, so Lindblum was focusing on the horizon.

He spotted the first cannonball as he heard the crack of the gun and banked sharply to avoid it. More and more followed, and the graceful flicks in his wingtips that he made to spiral through them soon disintegrated into desperate flapping to try and find some gap in the dark iron that assaulted him. "Fucking Lindblums!" he yelled compulsively as he heard the shells cracking behind him and felt the heat of the bombs growing. The blasts grazed closer and closer, shredding his wings and battering him from side to side. A primal roar tore from his lips as he grasped Freya close and fell from the skies.

--

"Bastard's coming down!" the Captain yelled over the deafening noise of the dragon, his feet already carrying him towards the stairs that led down into the theatre district. He kept his eyes on it as he ran, slowing unconsciously as it passed overhead.

"My gods," he uttered as he saw finally made out the humanoid structure of its body, and the limp figure clothed in red rags that it clutched to its chest, "What is that thing?"

"Was it carrying someone?" one of the soldiers running with him asked.

The Captain nodded, regaining his senses once he saw it crash through the roof of a building. "That's the theatre of Dead Gods! There'll be time for thinking once we stop that thing from eating anyone!"

"But what does it mean?" the same guard asked as they accelerated to a sprint towards the stairs.

"It means it picked up a bloody snack, alright?" the Captain shouted back, "It's a dragon, not a sodding chocobo!"

The thunderstorm had hit now, a crack of thunder muting another roar that sounded strangely like the name of the princess. "Things were easier with the bloody mist monsters," the Captain panted to himself as they rounded the final corner to Dead Gods.

They all stopped in their tracks as they saw it. The building was blazing through the rain, the fire no doubt started by the lightning on the dragon's wings. Patrons lay strewn all around, sobbing and coughing their lungs out. Ten or twenty guards lay with them already, groaning and nursing broken bones. And in the centre of it all, framed in the burning doorway, thrashing like a wounded animal . . .

"That's . . . That's . . ." a guard trembled.

"The Flaming Amarant," growled his Captain. "Go to the castle and sound the alert. Go! Now!"

The guard flinched, breaking into the fastest run he could muster towards the castle.

"What do you want, monster?" the Captain spat, concentrating on keeping his sword arm from shaking. The last thing his men needed was to see his own fear, "Where's the dragon?"

". . . killed her . . . ," the murderer heaved. His dreadlocks looked soaked in blood in the flame light.

"What?" The Captain said, too astounded to say anything else. "What-"

"You could've killed her!" Amarant bellowed, struggling to his feet. Only then did the assembled soldiers focus on the red clothed figure cradled in one arm and the light playing over her face.

"Oh my gods . . . That's Freya Crescent . . ." someone said.

"How dare you touch her!" screamed another guard, running forward, "After everything-"

He was cut off as Amarant's boot hit him in the stomach, kicking him backwards several feet.

"EIKO!" Amarant roared again, "Come you fucking pixie!"

"He's here to kill the princess too!" The Captain shouted. "Kill him! He's going after the rest of the Seven!"

"AMMIE!" screamed another voice - that of a young girl - as the charging soldiers felt themselves crash into an invisible barrier. A gigantic wolf bounded into the square, skidding to a stop even as a young girl jumped down from its back. Amarant collapsed to his knees again, groaning at the effort of keeping himself conscious.

"I saw you _flying_, what- Freya? Is she . . .?" Eiko stammered as she stopped midway through throwing herself around his neck.

"She's alive." Amarant answered, slurring around a mouthful of blood. "Help her."

"But you're-"

"Princess! Get away from him!" The Captain screamed as he tried to break through the barrier, interrupting Eiko.

"Shut up!" She screamed, with all the authority that little girls dream of having. "We have to take them to the castle, and get my mum! Don't argue!"

"But-"

"I'm the princess! Me! Do what I tell you!"

Several guards broke off in a hesitant run towards the castle, urged on by Fenrir's growls. Eiko let the barrier fall, so the remaining soldiers could get in to help the people injured in the crash and those beaten by Amarant. Several surrounded Amarant, Eiko and Freya with their swords drawn. Eiko glowered at them.

"Princess, he has no soul," the Captain hissed, motioning carefully for her to come to him, "You have no idea what that man has done."

"Yes I do," she whispered, standing on tiptoe and kissing him on the cheek. Amarant's eyes squinted as she did, before falling sideways unconscious, still cradling Freya. "And hopefully Dagger will let us tell everyone else now."

The Captain stared at her in confusion, before stepping in to help untwine the two unconscious figures. "Gods I miss the Mist," he muttered.

--

When Amarant regained consciousness, he felt himself chained – both by magic and metal. He kept his eyes closed while he regained his senses and took in what he could of his surroundings. The room smelled of damp stone. There was some flowing air, but it was stale, as if breathed too many times already. A dungeon. Another mixed scent, carried on an eddy; old blood and filth. A deep dungeon. There was a light glow that bled through his eyelids, but Amarant assumed it to be the lantern of a jailer outside the cell before he made out the imperceptible swish, swish of something disturbing the air. The crackle of a turning page placed it inside the cell, and that goddamn incessant brushing noise could only make it . . .

"Zidane . . ." he rasped, his throat coarse and dry.

The Royal Consort of Alexandria started, dropping his book and almost knocking over the oil lantern he was reading by. "Red! You're awake," he said.

"Water," Amarant answered, clinking his chains as he experimented with flexing his muscles.

"Don't do it, red. I know you can, but don't," Zidane warned as he held a bowl up to Amarant's lips, pouring it gently so that the prisoner could drain it. Amarant's eyes bore into Zidane with mistrust and questioning as he drank. Zidane stared back with exhaustion.

"She's alright. Eiko did everything she could, and her mum helped out. I came with Dagger soon as I heard so she had the best three healers on the continent looking after her."

"When can I see-?"

"You can't. D'you get what's going on here?"

"My execution," Amarant rumbled, "Not that much of a surprise. It'll be fun figuring out how."

"What? No," Zidane answered, looking a little shocked, "It's your trial, you morbid bastard. Everyone's shown up and we're doing everything we can to stop it from getting anywhere near that."

Amarant laughed incredulously.

Zidane sighed as he refilled the bowl from a pitcher in the corner. "Lindblum, Alexandria and Burmecia are, well, not on your side as such, but willing to listen. Treno's screaming for blood, but no-one gives a shit about what they want anymore. But New Cleyra's siding with them. This is a big, red."

"Why can't I see her?"

"Because you two're doing the nasty."

Amarant looked slightly surprised. "You told people?"

"Nah, not me. Freya did. You've been down here three weeks and she's been slightly mobile for the last one. She still managed to fight halfway down here," Zidane answered, flashing a grin, "She must'a taken out fifty guards before Dagger finally brought her down and she was screaming for you the entire time. Rusty nearly had a hernia when he heard, it was brilliant."

Amarant snorted. "Fuckin' stupid rat."

Zidane draped himself back across his chair, the light hearted grin fading from his face completely. "Why're you with her, Red?"

Amarant said nothing.

"Because if it's just the sex, I'll kill you right here. You _owe _me the truth."

Still nothing.

"I just want to know that, all this mess aside, you're not going to just up and leave her on a whim. She deserves better than that."

Amarant continued to be silent, but finally broke his eye contact with the thief. Zidane smirked.

"I was in prison once, when I was a kid," he said slowly, leaving silence after.

Zidane said nothing and stayed still, his face expressionless. Eventually Amarant continued.

"I wanted revenge on someone. I thought of so many things I could do to her. Then they let me out, and I burned everything that woman owned to the ground. I killed everyone and everything I found, when I was nothing more than a kid. I never looked back."

"Until you met us?" Zidane suggested.

"No. The war made me start to think. No, it was you and your goddamned morals. Freya . . . makes me want to be human."

"I can understand that," Zidane said softly. Amarant's eyes shot back to him, boring uncomfortably through his skull.

"Freya told me about what happened - only me though," he tacked on hastily as Amarant's eyes narrowed.

"My world is none of you business, Tribal."

"You're missing the goddamn point. Garland made me to kill this entire bloody planet, so if there's any one person who can be any sodding help in walking away from that, it's me alright?"

"I don't need your help."

"You fucking infuriate me sometimes, Coral. Yes, you really, really do. It's not just Freya who loves you, y'know. We all do. You really want to throw away a family that's actually got their priorities right out of stubbornness?"

"I'll take that as a no," Zidane said cheerfully, after Amarant failed to speak. "Don't worry red, family looks out for each other."

"I can't stay here," Amarant answered.

"You have to. If you break out I doubt you'll get another chance at a public reform."

"My redemption is my own and it is _not_ finished."

"Not over? I thought you killed that King thing?"

"The King is dead, but not the power. And it still reeks of Garland."

"Garland? What the hell does Garland have to do with it?" Zidane exclaimed.

Amarant snorted. "There's a balance to eidolons. Five thousand years ago, Garland corrupted it by controlling the King. It left . . . traces. Pieces in everything with eidolon in them. A change in power should've cleansed it."

"Five thousand years?" Zidane muttered in disbelief. "Do you know what's happened?"

"I have ideas. I need to finish what I've started."

Zidane sighed. "That bastard's like a cancer. Do you absolutely have to do this? I mean, these immortals can't do it?"

"It's what I was made for. I can't live until it's done. I know that because of . . . because of the war."

Zidane smiled. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you'd just admitted to us all getting to you."

Amarant smirked. "Don't kid yourself, monkey boy."

With a sigh, Zidane got to his feet. "Getting anything out of you is like getting blood out of a stone, red. Just . . . sit through the trial at least, alright? And don't kill anybody."

Amarant snorted. "One condition. And if you prove my trust's misplaced Tribal, I'll gut you."

"Hey, I've covered for you this long haven't I?" Zidane answered, tweaking a resigned smile.

"Esto Gaza. One week from now. Tell her I'll be waiting."

Zidane nodded. He pulled a whistle from his pocket. "Guess I better get changed into whatever crap Dagger's put out for me this time," he said before blowing two short blasts on the whistle, followed by a third long one.

"Problems in the Royal bedchamber?" Amarant asked, with a tint of sarcasm.

"Things've just-" Zidane cut himself off with a snort. "Almost got me there, red. Actually thought you cared for a second."

Amarant grinned in a fairly unpleasant fashion. "You caught me."

The hatch in the door pulled open as the guard peered in. "Sire? Are you ready to leave?"

Zidane's tail bristled slightly at the formal address. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let me out."

"The trial's in a few hours," he added as the door opened, and he stepped through. "Remember she's not just a soldier, alright?"

That statement seemed to replace any words of parting, the door slamming and bolting behind it. The lantern was still in the cell, along with the book. The title read 'Apocrypha Tantarian', and Amarant burst into laughter.

--

Three hours later, the ceiling opened with the deafening roar of machinery and the piece of floor Amarant was chained to began to jerk upwards. It entered a chimney of smooth metal bound by even more protective magic. There were claw marks in the metal for the first ten feet, until they disappeared under a circle of small hatches. There were more of these hatches, spaced roughly every fifteen feet further upwards, obviously there for guards to subdue any unruly prisoners.

When he finally emerged out of the shaft there was a clamour of noise, quickly cut short by the ringing of the judge's bell. The room was packed with people, separated from Amarant by a triple layered cage of magically enhanced metal. He stood in the middle of a room styled on ancient theatres; a semicircle of rising seats lay before him filled on every level with people from all over the continent, with the court officials and city rulers – including Garnet and Cid - lined on the lowest row. Several Lindblum soldiers stood between them and the cage, bolstered by Adelbert and Beatrix Steiner.

A young voice yelled "AMMIE!", and he moved his gaze to see Eiko waving in the row behind the judge and jury, flanked by the rest of his war companions and her mortified mother. He settled on Freya, and saw the fur below her eyes was matted. She looked away as soon as their gaze caught, and he saw that Zidane was gripping her arm.

A second peal of the bell rang out, this time stilled before it had run its course. The judge ceased his glare at the excitable Summoner girl and turned to begin his address to the heaving courtroom.

"This court is gathered here today to charge the criminal Amarant Coral, alias the Flaming Amarant, alias The Man With No Soul," he began, his voice amplified by means of magic or architecture.

His gaze fixed on Amarant. "You stand charged with multiple counts of murder, assault, the creation of illegal substances – including variants of dead pepper root and opium, the sale of said substances, property destruction-"

The list was never finished. A cascade of rubble crashed off of Amarant's cage, chased by a red cloaked figure that landed gracefully on the floor in front. Before anyone could blink, it covered the cage in twisting red cloth, intersected with lightning flashes of blue.

The metal fell to the floor and Amarant shrugged off his chains. A quick glance told him that Freya was being restrained by Zidane, and the guards were moving in. Gilgamesh grabbed him by the neck of his shirt, snapping his attention back.

"ASH IS THE KING!" Jack screamed over the shrills of terror that bounced around the room.

"GO!" Amarant replied, and a second hand grabbed him by the belt. Jack took flight, and they were gone, leaving swords and pikes to swing through nothing.

--

"_Oi, Freya, over here."_

"_Zidane? What the __**hell**__ are you doing here? The guards will kill you if they see you dressed like that!"_

"_It's cool, we knocked them out. We've got around ten minutes 'til they wake up."_

"_We?"_

"_Yeah, Blank's here with me. Even I'm not good enough to climb up here solo."_

"_What on earth are you __**doing**__ here?"_

"_I came to break you out, didn't I? Red's expecting you."_

"_Sal? You know where he is? Tell me!"_

"_Hell no!"_

"_. . . So help me Tribal, you better-"_

"_Relax, I'm gonna show you. Like hell I'm missing out again."_

~~*~~

**End of Book One**


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